Sweetly Drowning
by Morbid DramaQueen10
Summary: "Regardless of his contributions, to society he would always be a Malfoy. The worst, or perhaps best, thing is that he clearly knows it. Nevertheless, she is resolved to see through his misery every day of her life." 8 or so years after the Battle of Hogwarts, the youngest Greengrass has a chance encounter with one of the most hated wizards of the day. Draco/Astoria.
1. Stumbling Notes

**Sweetly Drowning**

**Chapter 1**

**Draco/Astoria**

**DISCLAIMER: HP isn't mine. **

**I started this sucker months ago. However, between one thing and another….**

**For my To Wish fans, don't worry. We've got 5 chapters on stock, and most of this is finished. 6 chapters, just need a bit of editing. **

**Please enjoy and review!**

**_XXX_**

When I hear the resolute footfalls echo down the aisle, I have to work at fighting back the urge to sigh. It would be a melodramatic one, for sure. This will have been the seventh customer to have interrupted my shelving in the last hour. Preparing my face for the demur - yet painfully fake - smile has now become an involuntary reflex. The footsteps halt. I wait. They came to_ me_, they can trouble themselves to break my concentration.

Two-and-a-half years I've spent here, among the piles of silent stories. From a young age, I have adored books, all books. Nothing brought me greater joy than a new book, running my fingers along an uncracked spine, smelling fresh glue, sweet paper. Taking up a job as shopkeeping assistance at Flourish and Blotts seemed like a natural thing to do. I forgot, when applying, my aversion people. Still, the manager likes my enthusiasm, as well as my knowledge of literary history. My keen appreciation made me a quick favourite with the regular crowd — this suited me as well, for they were likable people.

Some days were lovely. Filled with laughter, tea, organization. Others were….

There is a cough. I grit my teeth, reaching out to the pile of texts beside me. There is nothing I loathe more than people clearing their throats to attract my attention. I am tempted to ignore the clout. Yet, my paycheck demands I snap to. For a moment, all I can see is a pair of legs-clad in a fine grey pinstripe — and two feet, house in hand-sewn, hand-polish Italian loafers. I open my mouth as I life my head.

It is the shock of white-blond hair that catches my eye first. It is longer, perhaps shoulder-length, and tied back with a French blue velvet ribbon. Slightly feminine. Parted neatly down the center. Almost ridiculously smooth, not a hair out of place over the entire round of his skull.

Next it is the eyes — cool, carefully grey, with blue tint. Narrowed, as hinted by the crinkled corners. Frightfully familiar. Familiar, though, not name comes to mind. I stare straight into them for several seconds before remembering my manners. He's a customer. A well-off customer, if judging by his shoes. Over a hundred gallons, those.

"Can I help you, sir?" I ask in my very best shopkeeper's assistant's voice. Two pale eyebrows rise.

"I was just about to ask you that very question." There is the barest trace of humor in his tone. My eyes drop back to the books. I am thankful I'm not a blusher. Though, around this fellow, I might quickly become one. I further noted, before I dropped my head, his manicured nails, cleanly-shaven, gaunt face, and that he holds a dark blue-grey cloak on one arm.

He continues, mercifully. "Yes, I believe you can. Duarte's Botanical Manual. 1904. I seek it. Do you possess a copy?"

The use of short, clipped sentences irritates me further. "Have you tried our section on botany and herbology, sir?" I ask quietly.

He gives me a _"Oh-please-do-you-really-take-me-for-that-sort-of-dolt?" _look before sighing.

"Very well, sir. Allow me to look."

I leave my teetering pile of tomes for the left corner of the shop, the man trailing behind. Several moments of searching turns up nothing. The man is impatient, pacing up and down the row. Occasionally another customer passes, then quickens their pace upon seeing the predatory shoulder swing. He stalks as I calmly pull on the spines of dusty texts.

"It is a rarer book," He sniffs. "I was certain you would have it. I have scoured all other stores —"

"Then, sir," I cut him off. "I shall send to have it ordered for you. If you will just come with me for the necessary paperwork."

He appears slightly startled, but followed nonetheless. It took only a few moments to fill out various boxes and lines on the small piece of bright yellow parchment. I rip off the pink underlying paper and hand it to him without ceremony.

"It will be here by Thursday," I tell the man as we watch the owl soar over the snow-topped roofs of Diagon Alley. "Coming in from Argentina, you understand—"

He waves me off. "That is fine. Shall I pay now, or when it arrives"

I hesitate. "I can personally deliver it, if you wish. You can pay me then."

This pleases him. I receive a scrap of a smile. "That will be acceptable. I may have another order, over the coming week, as well."

"I can bring that, too." We don't have a runner, as they are only employed in the summer months, for being in school during the rest of the year. The job will have fallen on me, regardless of my offering it.

"Excellent. Very well, next Thursday." He tips his head, and makes to leave. The cloak is swung around his shoulders.

"Ah, sir." I stop him before he reaches the door. Straining my arm, I reach over the ledge of the counter to snag the notepad kept to write down things such as-"I did not catch your name, sir. And I will need your address."

He pauses. The cold eyes flicker with irritation, as though I am at fault for not know who, precisely, he is. The purse lips twitch. Again, I get the sense that I missing something. There is something about this man that is painfully familiar. I bite my lip.

"Malfoy," he says shortly "You will find my residence in Wiltshire. Malfoy Manor."

I blink, failing to write any of this down. There is no need, now. Mr. Malfoy sneers. Without a word, he exits the shop, leaving only the faint tingle from the bell above the door in his wake.

**-XXX-**

_Without any preamble, he states, "Get out."_

_I ignore the pale boy to instead cross the room to the nearest window, gazing out upon the field of white, broken only by the occasional pine, or manicured bush. There, in the center—a marble fountain. Unlike muggle versions, this one flows even in the months of cold. I watch the sparkling water trickle from the mouth of a swan, and sigh. _

_Draco, from where he sits by the fire, kicking his legs, rolls his eyes. "Why are you even here?"_

"_Aunt Cissy told me to come see you." _

"_She's not your aunt." _

_I do not respond. _

"_I'm not _lonely_." He growled. "The party was merely dull. I am fine. You can tell my mother she need not send an infant to entertain me, I am perfectly capable of doing so myself. Go away now."_

"_No," I say stubbornly. _

_Glaring, he rises. "If you do not leave this instant—" He begins, stepping forward threatening. _

_But he doesn't get to finish, for I have fled. Later, sitting on the polished steps of the grand staircase, listening to the laughter of the adults in the ballroom below, I wonder why he so naturally assumed it was his loneliness I had come to sooth. _

**-XXX-**

The next couple days, the meeting remains my primary focus. Not his behavior, nor mine. Not my upcoming visit to his manor. Not even my own shyness. To be honest, none of that compares my inability to recognize _Draco Malfoy_. Has he really changed so much? Has it been so long since I had seen him? How long…years?

The answer does not readily come to me. Long, then.

It is Thursday. Mr. Malfoy's book arrived just over hour ago — along with an owl from Malfoy Manor, including a list of five additional books he feels assured are in our stocks. Drew, my manager, tells me to find the volumes, package them, then deliver them following the end of my shift. I return Master Malfoy's eagle owl with a note, promising to deliver all six at approximately six o'clock.

Wrapping books is something I genuinely enjoy doing. Customers do not always appreciate the care I take with their books, but that doesn't matter. Smoothing the brown paper over the soft leather, creasing at the corners, folding, taping, tying…it is like a well-rehearsed dance my fingers thrive on. I double knot the bow prettily, and before I know it, six is here. Drew is shutting down the shop.

"Don't forget the Duarte book," he chimes as I wind my wool scarf 'round my neck. I nod, mind already muddled.

I apparate a few feet in front of the high iron gates. Upon seeing those oh-so familiar white walls, I swallow back bile. My feet hesitate, shuffling against the pearly gravel, sending the tiny rocks flying every which way.

Before the war, before I was even in Hogwarts, my parents were great friends with the Malfoy family. Cissy was practically my auntie, I was virtually the daughter she never had —or, perhaps, the niece she never accepted. My father got on well with the elder master; the hunted together regularly, and often retired to the study for Firewhiskey after our numerous dinner. We were always attending their social gathering — the summer solstice galas, fall festivals, and their annual New Year's ball.

But then something happened. I was in my second year when my parents began to withdraw from the social circle the Malfoys dominated.

Draco, who was a great prat even then, was nearly fifteen. We saw each other regularly, but hardly acknowledged one another. For whatever reason, we had some initial repulsion of the other. Unspoken, it was agreed between us to be cool, polite when necessary.

Soon being cool was not even required, for we hardly saw the Malfoys. Once, while out shopping, we ran across Cissy and a bored Draco. Cissy was clearly thrilled to see me, and seized me tightly. My mother and father stood back. Mother had a restrained smile plastered on her face while Narcissa cooed over me. I had hugged my auntie just as tightly as she held me, wondering over the reserved exchange. Draco hung back as my parents did, face unreadable. I was thirteen. Cedric Diggory had passed on four months before. Rumors were sparking everywhere of the Dark Lord's rising.

We did not see them for a long time after that. The war came that year, though it avoided my family for the most part. I was a fifth year by the time the Battle of Hogwarts occurred.

**-XXX-**

_ "You may go," Professor Sinistra tells me softly as the rotating images of planets and stars fade throughout the room. I begin to pack my things. Since we have been barred from leaving the castle in the evenings, not even for lessons, Sinistra has offered practical lessons to the handful of Advanced Astronomy students the Carrows did not have chained in the dungeons. Only five us of remain, though I was the only one present tonight — two were hidden with the crowd DA, and the others probably too scared to wander the corridors past nightfall. I cannot rightly blame them._

_ "Thank you, Professor." I bow my head. _

_She looks on me with gentle eyes. "Would like an escort? I can summon a prefect, if you wish to take you to your dormitory?" _

_ "Oh, no thank you. I'm sure I won't be troubled," I assure her. "The Carrows will surely be…otherwise occupied."_

_ Our eyes met, and we both winced for the poor souls trapped below our very feet._

_ I take my leave, walking quickly through the corridors. With a sigh, I check my watch. Eleven-thirty. I am about to start up one of the spiral staircases, the one that will get me to Ravenclaw's entrance within ten minutes, when the voice consumes my mind. _

"Give me Harry Potter, and none shall be harmed," _a serpentine voice hissed. _"Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you shall be rewarded. You have until midnight."

_ I gasp, falling into the wall, blindly reaching for the railing. "Oh, oh my." _

_ I run up the stairs, two steps at a time. The Tower. I have to warn someone. My friends, the first years…anybody! It has to be Voldemort. It simply must be. No one else would dare attack the castle, no one - Oh, gods, why — Harry Potter isn't here? Everyone knew he hadn't returned to school after the battle last year. It was common knowledge the New Ministry was searching for him, had put a bounty on his head. Him being here is preposterous. This is sheer madness!_

_ Then again, when was the Dark Lord ever known for actions of sanity? _

_ I reach the Tower in just under four minutes. Without a thought, I demand entry. The eagle allows me in without refute. I dart inside to find—_

_ The Carrows, dangling from a silver rope, attached to the ceiling. I shriek, rushing from the room, slamming the door behind me. Back to the stairs._

**-XXX-**

"Astoria Greengrass," I tell the imposing gates. "Delivering books for Master Malfoy."

They swing back with a loud creek equivalent in annoyance to the dying shriek of a rabbit. I cringe, clutching the books to my chest. Their brown paper coverings crackle with the motion. Evening has fallen, bringing twilight mists with it. The whole walk is given an ominous tone. A peacock's cry breaks. Then, just the sound of my suede flats crunching against the fine gravel can be heard.

The door is flung open as soon as my feet touch the stone steps. A tiny elf with wide ears stands in the threshold, wearing a grungy sort of grey tunic, tied at the waist. It squeaks shrilly. "This way, Miss!"

I follow. The elf offers to take my outerwear, a fitted purple coat and long white scarf, as well as a red velvet cap. I do not expect to stay necessarily that long-removing them would only give me the trouble of replacing the articles when I leave, which ought to be mere seconds.

Tripe — the elf informs me that this is their name — shows me up the grand staircase of the foyer, and down a maze of hallways. We end up in a room entirely unfamiliar to me —partly an office, parlor, and study. Malfoy sits behind a massive desk quill in hand. He must be writing a business letter, for he finishes with a flourish only appropriate for formal signatures. He looks up. I turn my eyes away quickly. Tones of a piano —jazz— is being emitted by a small radio on one of the built-in shelves behind the desk. I pass the books over without a sound.

Malfoy accepts hem, eyes flickering over the brown wrappings, my hands. His fingers brush my palm, and I shift backwards. Those pale brows rise. Then—

"Tripe, tea, I think." He has turned his gaze upon the elf, who bows promptly. "Unless you would prefer something stronger, perhaps?"

I am mortified. "Oh, ah, no. I really have to go."

"One cup can't hold you up too terribly. Besides, I still have to pay you - which I will not do until I've examined these." He lifts up the stack, extracting himself from behind his desk. I stand back, frowning as he looks over each and every tome, cover-to-cover, caressing the coloured leather, completely expressionless. Long fingers run across the texts of snowy pages. I wait.

"Very good," he finally proclaims. "Thank you. You are a credit to Flourish and Blott's."

I decline my head. "Thank you."

"Sit."

Gritting my teeth, I take a seat on the black couch in the sitting area. Malfoy settles across from me in a matching armchair. The wings sit, imposing, above him. The effect is quite menacing, though he has a look of mild comfort about his narrow features.

"There wasn't any trouble?"

I hesitate. "The third one on the list, _Bordin's Book of Beasts, _I had to Floo myself to our Edenborough branch. We sold our last copy Monday."

"Ah. Thank you again."

Tripe enters, carrying a fully laden tray. Narcissa's black patterned Avalon china sits on the polished silver. I recognize it. It's the set used during my childhood visits, always. Draco surely couldn'tve remembered this detail; they've probably hosted hundreds of people since we stopped visiting. I suddenly can't breathe.

**-XXX-**

_ People were rushing everywhere around me. Young students being hustled out of the castle, Older students go to their battlement, wands drawn and faces peaked. I walk with my head down, until I find myself standing alone in a secluded section of hall. It's on the western side, just behind a Harold-the-Eye tapestry. _

_ I cross to the line of gracefully arched windows, peering out to the dark wilderness beyond. There is the courtyard, the bridge, then the lake. And beyond — the forest. Where, from what I hear whispered in the corridor, the Dark Lord waits. A sparkling barrier begins to form, liquid over a black sea above. _

_ I am frightened. _

_ While in the halls I managed to catch sight of several of my housemates. From what I could gather, all younger students had been removed to a safer destination. _

_ And I? _

_ "I am no fighter," I whisper to myself. _

_ I turn to move, unwilling to see the battle commence. I need to do something. Go somewhere. I—I don't know…._

_ My nose makes contact first, hitting something soft, yet unyielding. Then the rest of me tumbles from the window's ledge against whatever invisible force stands before me. A muffle squeak slips out while a maniacal-like grip instills itself around my forearms. _

_ "_Shhhhh," _A soft sound comes from the shadows. I struggle against the invisible being. "Astoria, you are fine. Calm yourself, woman." _

_ My wriggling stops with the voice. "Who's there?" _

_ "Please," the voice says quietly. "You're fine."_

_ The hands slide down to meet my fingers, squeezing them lightly. I wring one of my hands from the stranger's, whipping out my wand. "_Deletrius!_"_

_ He swore as the spell melted from him. The hair seems to illuminate his entire being; it is pure moonlight. Angry eyes of iron meet mine. "You should not be here, Snodgrass." _

_ I stumble away from the Malfoy heir, ignoring the tease. He allows the distance. _

_ "Malfoy, I don't think you ought to be here either," I retort. "What are you doing here, sneaking around?"_

_ "I protest. I am not sneaking."_

_ "Disillusionment Charm? Snatching at young women? Sneak. Why aren't you with the rest of the Slytherins?"_

_ "I'm no longer in school, you dolt," ge sneers. "Besides, even if I was, I wouldn't have left."_

_ "Why?" I demand. _

_ "_Shhh," h,_e reminds me again. "Because, I'm not about to let you stay behind."_

_ I open my mouth, confused, but he cuts over me. _

_ "Mother would kill me if any harm befell you," he explains. "I'm to get you out, before..."_

_ He drifts off, eyes sliding to the window. _

_ "And then?"_

_ "I've got to come back. Goyle, and Crabbe. They've wandered off."_

_ Without a word, he takes me by the arm, leading me out of the hall. We reach the Great Hall in several minutes. For once, I am cursing the anti-apparation spells instilled on this place. _

_ "Can't go out there." He nods to the tall oak doors. "That'll have us facing the forest." _

_ "Right in front of them."_

**-XXX-**

Tea is served, and I find myself asking, "Your mother, how is she?"

If the question is too forward, he doesn't openly reveal so. His eyes never stray from his teacup as he tells me, "She is well. Visiting some cousins in France. She still speaks of you. Less often, but occasionally."

I nod, focusing on the sugar tongs. They're patterned with peonies.

"You didn't recognize me, that day in the shop," he accuses softly.

"No," I sigh. "I'm sorry. It's been years, sir…I was fifteen when we last met, after all."

He freezes. "Oh, yes?"

"The private quidditch match, at Gibbon's in Surray?"

"Right," he says, vaguely faint. "Travis won." Malfoy sighs now. "How old must you be? That was years ago…"

"Twenty-three. Nearly nine years, now."

"A wonder we have not met till now."

"My family has reduced their social circle since the war. And I have never been one for parties," I admit.

"You still live with your parents, then?"

"As if you are one to talk!" I snort. "You're running a business out here."

I do not bother in correcting him of my living situation; I had been out of the house for just over three-and-a-half years. A glorious three-and-a-half years.

"You are mistaken. I am simply here for the holidays, tending to business while Mother is out."

"Congratulations."

"Still a brat, I see. "

"Still a giant git."

"Always." He flashes me a smile.

I'm getting hot, and stand to remove my coat and scarf. Draco is on his feet soon, helping. Frowning, he asks, "Did Tripe not offer to take this?"

"Oh, no, they did," I assure him. "I kept it. Didn't expect to stay so long, you see." I've turned out of my coat now, and face him fully. Silent, he plucks the hat off my crown. My left wrist has been pressed to his palm. We freeze. The moment is liquid. For seconds, we are left to stare, wide-eyed.

I pull away after regaining my senses, sweeping my hair behind my ear, biting my lip. Draco appears troubled, lips set. Then, as if nothing occurred, we sit. My jacket is left draped across the arm of the couch.

"So, a bookshop."

"A bookshop," I confirm.

"Do you like working there?"

"Most of the time. The pay is good. I like the others, and my hours are flexible. Customers can be…" I drift off, making a face. He smiles for the second time.

"I didn't realize it was you for a moment. When I did, I planned on surprising you. Then, when you started calling me 'sir,' I knew you didn't know me. And I saw no point in…disrupting you."

The way he says it strikes me. Almost as though "disrupt" wasn't quite what he meant to imply.

"It would not have been a disruption. I was —- I am —- glad to see you."

"Miss me, did you?" He teases,

"I miss the Malfoys as a whole. It is truly disappointing our families have drifted. Your parents were like second parents to me."

"Does that make you my little sister?" His eyes are bright. Amused.

I snort. "Sure, if you'd like that."

He is quieted. "Then I am honored."

For a while we are quiet, musing over our tea. I interrupt without much thought.

"And you, the successful business man? You name is always in _The Prophet. Malfoy Markets Dragon Pox Vaccine - Draco Malfoy Introduces New Disallusionment Mixture - Caldron Cleaning Concoction, New by Draco Malfoy. _You've done well." And yet he wasn't a media darling. Though the British papers were decent about keeping the slander and discourteous comments in regards to the Malfoys from their pages, foreign rags weren't nearly so kind. Regardless of his contributions, he would always be a _Malfoy. _The worst (or perhaps best) thing was that he clearly knew it.

He quirks his lips. "I've had no choice but to. 'Remarkable,' they say. I'm doing nothing new. Any other man—"

He stops. The Ministry had frozen most Malfoy assets after the war. From what the papers had told me, Draco was determined to not let his family's wealth go to the wayside as their reputation had. He sold their stocks, then turned to his most marketable skill: potion-making. He began improving or inventing potions for the masses. In five years, he had produced over 30 new brews and improved over 100 old recipes. I'd heard in the shop that he was in the midst of compiling these into a new textbook, suited to wizarding students. Now, even after the Malfoy accounts were returned, Draco was close to doubling the family's fortune _The Daily Prophet _speculated. And he was showing no sign of slowing down.

"You've done amazing things. Everyone says you're going to outdo the legacy of the last five generations. Even better your great-uncle Alabastor, and that one cousin…Klazara, was it?"

"No point, I'm just protecting my inheritance."

"Even so."

"Do you remember the battle?" He asks abruptly.

I frown. "Vaguely. Why?"

"Just curious."

**-XXX-**

_ "Oy, Malfoy!" _

_ The person in question turns, taking me with him. I do a sort of graceless three-point-turn, stumbling into his unyielding stance. Neville Longbottom stands at the foot of the grand staircase, looking a little worse for wear and scowling magnificently. _

_ "Why aren't you with the other Slytherins, slinking off?" he demands. I admire the boy's pluck; this is not the Longbottom I knew from chess club. All evident meekness is gone. He's standing tall, not even second guessing himself against the pureblood brat clinging to me. _

_ "Taking her out." Malfoy pulls on the sleeve of my robes. _

_ Longbottom eyes me. "What for? Why didn't she go out with the others?"_

_ "Oh, she intended on staying. But I won't stand for it - far too young - and you shouldn't either, regardless of what side you're playing for."_

_ It strikes me that Draco is being civil, legitimately civil, to Neville Longbottom._

_ "We're all too young," Neville agrees wearily. "Is he telling the truth, Astoria?"_

_ I nod. "Yes. I—-I tried to stay, to, er, fight." _

"_You're an idiot," he tells me flatly. "Go, then, Malfoy, get her out. I'm trusting you."_

_ Strong words I would have never expected to hear from Neville. Something akin to relief flutters across Malfoy's features. We exit quickly, Draco still dragging me. We go through the greenhouses, practically running past rows and rows of sleeping plants, vivid green, purples, and reddish leaves passing our vision. I am quickly breathless. _

_ Then we're outside, crossing the lawn. Draco drops my sleeve to take my hand instead. I squeeze it tightly. I can see the shimmer of the barrier one hundred yards ahead. This will pose a problem. "How are we getting past that?" _

_ "Know a spell," he says shortly, abandoning personal pronouns to save precious breath. _

_ "Okay." We shrug on. _

_ When we're mere feet from the boarder, a loud, epic crash sounds. I stop, turning back. Hundreds upon hundreds of lights are coming from the castles—reds, blue, bright, blinding white, and…greens. The barrier has been impacted. A cry sounds, and it's several seconds before I realize it's me. Draco yanks me to him, clutching my waist, whispering. _

_ "C'mere. Can't stop. We've got to go, Astoria."_

_ "Draco, there are people dying," I gasp. "We have to—"_

_ "No, you don't," he says firmly. "You'll only get yourself kill." I am pulled forcefully forward. We've met the barrier. _

_ Malfoy releases me then, stepping up with his wand out and at the ready. Under his breath, he begins a long and complex chant. It sounds vaguely Latin. I do not beg to go back again, for fear of interrupting his concentration. Several minutes pass. With each _"boom"_ Draco's brow furrows briefly, then smoothes as he regains focus. At last, a section of the glimmering field dissolves. Draco steps away. Clearly drained, he leans against my shoulder for precious seconds of support. _

_ "Go," he manages. "Run till you get to the village. A group should be waiting there, other students. It's a neutral ground. No one should bother you there. Stay until…until it's safe."_

_ I stare. "You're not coming with me?" _

_ "No. I can't."_

_ I press closer to him. Draco doesn't pull away, but hesitates before tightening his grip on my shoulder. _

_ "You're a coward," I whisper, burning tears welding in the corners of my eyes. "Be a coward now, come with me." _

_ He smiles. In the darkness, I can barely make it out. Our only illumination is the clashing of spells in the distance. "Not today, no. It'll be worse for me if I don't go." _

_ "But you'll —"_

_ "Not if I'm on the winning side."_

_ "You think he'll win?" _

_ For a moment, he is silent. "I don't know. But whichever side that is…I intend to be on it."_

_ "Even the winners have fatalities" _

_ "I won't be one. Promise, Astoria." He presses his forehead to mine. "Go, now." _

_ I untangle myself, starting toward the broken barrier. But then he pulls me back. Frantic lips seek mine in the darkness. A bruising pressure upon my mouth, crushing and warm and trembling. I respond with little hesitation. If this is going to be Draco's last kiss, it may as well be a good one._

_ Leaving, I knew it wasn't hidden passions that made him kiss me; it was fear, desperation, worry, frustration. A mixture of heavy emotions, with a dash of apprehension and unknown circumstances to be faced in the near future. Even my fluffier teenaged-tendency could discern this. I did not doubt my conclusion. _

_ At least, I didn't until hearing the whispered words, several seconds after crossing through the broken field. _

"Obliviate."

**-XXX-**

"It's all a blur, getting out, and the sounds and -" I stop. My wristwatch, glinting in the firelight has caught my eye to remind me of the time. It's almost a quarter pass seven.

"Oh, Merlin, I've got to go." I stand up, snagging my jacket as I make a beeline for the door. Only Draco steps in my path, effectively stopping me.

"Can't you stay, just for a while? It's been so long. Mother's due back in a day, or so, she would love to see you."

I stare, open-mouthed. "Are you asking me to stay the weekend?"

He shakes his head. "It would be nothing like that."

Unnerved, I shift my weight from foot to foot. "Regardless, people would…talk. And it's a little short notice. I've got plans."

"We've only just found one another—" he begins.

Holding up a hand, I stop him. Honestly, he's got to get used to not getting his way all the damn time. "Sir, I am sorry, but it's not really an option. You know where I work. If you'd like to chat…ring the shop."

With that I flee, racing down the stairs and across the manicured drive, wondering how this situation might've felt oh-so-familiar.

**-XXX-**

**What did you think? Please review! **

**Edited Jan 28th 2013**


	2. At First We Fall

**Sweetly Drowning, II**

**I've been looking for a beta, but so far none have replied. Once I have one, I'll get this and chapter 1 looked over by an extra pair of eyes. I was just eager to get this movin'! And I feel as though if you don't update within 3 day of publishing, you can quickly lose readers. The response has been wonderful, please keep reading and reviewing! **

**-XXX-**

A week after this meeting, I am quite disgruntled to find that I am out of ginger root, a key ingredient of Wit-Sharpening Potion. New Year's is coming up, and I expect to receive quite a few hangovers over the durations of the festivities. Therefore, I am forced to trek to Slug and Jigger's Apothecary on my morning off.

Finding the root is no struggle — ginger is extremely common. But I am of a curious nature. I walk around for a while, exploring the rows and rows filled with jars, barrels, and bins of potion supplies.

"Astoria?"

Soon after hearing this, I am bowled over with a massive hug. I gasp, bringing in my arms. There is a laugh. My attacker pulls back, beaming widely.

"Astoria Greengrass, you've grown so much." Narcissa Malfoy's smile could not be wider. Heat rises to my cheeks.

"Aunt Cissy,"

"Goodness, no need to call me that," she says, though I can tell it pleases her. "Narcissa, love. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you. Draco told me you've been holidaying in France."

"Yes, with several cousins…he did not mention meeting you..." Her eyes brighten at the prospect.

"Ah, yes. I was delivering. Books." I duck my head. "I'm working in Flourish and Blotts, now."

"Your parents are making you _labor_?" she asks sharply, mood quickly shifting.

"No, no, I wanted to work! Get out of the house, you know."

This subdues her. "That suits you. Well, I am pleased to have seen you again. It has been years." She softens. "My sweet little Astoria, all grown up. As you are working, I assume you have not…settled?"

The bright blue orbs flicker to my left hand, narrowing with pleasure upon seen no ring there. It was an open secret, when we still were social with the Malfoys, that Narcissa wished me to be her true daughter. Or, rather, daughter-in-law.

"Um, no Auntie," I stutter. "Not yet. Still trying to, er, find myself."

She pats my hand. "You've always been self-assured, my love. It shall not take you long, I am sure."

I am less confident. Four years out of the house begs to differ.

"I really must go, my love," Narcissa says, opening her purse. "Poor Draco is home for the holidays, caught a cold, poor dear. Need to pick him up some peppermint and nettles for a Pepperup Potion."

But she holds wormwood, valerian roots, rough, unpolished moonstones — the kind used for crushing - and a small brown vial I recognized as hellebore syrup. All ingredients for peace and sleep potions. I do not comment, but look away quickly to smile up at her. We're probably the same height, but stilettos give her two inches on me.

"I do hope he feels better soon. Colds are no fun, especially around the holidays."

"He is soldiering through," she sighs, extracting a slip of parchment from the interior of her purse. Offering it to me, she smiles widely. "Our annual New Year's Eve ball, my love. You must come. It's been years. Draco would be so pleased to see you - " Somehow I doubt this. "— and it would be so good to see you again. You haven't been since you were at least thirteen."

I had never truly been, as it were. Since I was a child, I was typically disregarded to Draco's nursery, and, when I was older, the library.

I untuck the gold paper. It shimmers even in the dull lighting of the aisle, the sweeping gold script and upraised ink speaking volumes of elegance, class, and taste. My parents had received many over the years. A formality, though we were naturally expected to come, regardless. I let my fingers trace the edge of the paper. Even the parchment feels expensive. Four years living on a basic wage I'd forgotten things like expensive parchment, and marble ballroom floors.

"Oh, I don't know, " I say hastily. "I don't really have anything to wear, and I— I—"

Her disappointed look stops me. Auntie Cissa's entire face falls magnificently. She is a woman used to getting her way.

"Well, I suppose I don't have any other plans," I say slowly. "And, it would be nice to see you, and to be out of the house…."

She beams. "Oh, it will be lovely."

There is another hug, promises to see one another in a few days, and we depart. I am left wondering who out of the Malfoys requires a sleep potion.

**-XXX-**

Frustration overtakes me as the party nears. When I moved out, I did not take many of my dress robes with me. It didn't seem practical. Now, however, I was in need of something stunning, yet understated. Nothing I would club in is appropriate, but my demurest gowns are, well, boring. The night before, I am tearing apart my closet searching for something decent. Charming an older gown is not an option; people will surely notice. But I hesitate in buying something new. While I'm not exactly living paycheck-to-paycheck, and my account has a good number of gallons in it, I cannot justify purchasing a new dress. Besides, Malkin is talented, but even she can't make my pathetic figure something near beautiful.

Regardless, I find myself in Madame Malkin's the next morning, bright and early. Indeed, I am there before Malkin herself. She looks surprised, but graciously welcomes me in and situates me in a fitting station. Seeing as none of the assistants arrive before nine, it is the Madam herself who fits me in the creamiest rose satin. She presented me with five bolts, levitated from the back room. The rose was her favourite, and it did not take much to convince me to try it. It is a dawn pink, a little dusky in colour. I am breathless upon seeing it. The dress itself is shaping out to be rather classic — fitted waist, princess neckline, a sweeping skirt that brushes the floor. Curves are emphasized, and the rose gives me a sweet glow. Gold lines the neck, long sleeves, and the dress's hem. She promises scroll-like embroideries along the bodice. Cream lace will be at the hems, as well as surround the neck.

I am told it will be ready for me in three hours. This in my mind, I leave significantly cheerier (never mind the pile of gallons I had to hand over for this masterpiece) and actually looking forward to the evening activities.

At twelve, I return to Madam Malkin's for my dress.

It's perfect. I surely do not deserve such a lovely thing — but my money says otherwise. Madam even offers me a selection of shoes and jewelry. I purchase a pair of glittering golden pumps, but decline the gems. Why bother, when the dress shone so brightly itself? I thank the seamstress heavily before making my exit.

Three hours later, I've started my hair. The Malfoy's gala is the event of the year - anyone who is anyone (and at least half-blood) is there. Or, they were. Following the war, the Malfoy popularity took a major hit. Money no longer spoke as it once did. For the first year, even the relationships they retained were tentative. Eventually, they salvaged most of their social graces. People were still wary, but with the passing of the patriarch —

I pause from rolling my curlers. Lucius. I am forced to sit as the memory overtakes me.

**-XXX-**

_My father's spectacles wink at me over the breakfast table as I enter the room. The sun is reflecting off of them, hiding his eyes from my view. I shield my eyes, taking my seat. Mother passes me a plate of toast, and I begin to butter it. Sharon, our maid, enters to hand my father _The Daily Prophet. _He removes the classified section, tossing it to me. I accept it gratefully. Mother rolls her eyes when I run my finger across the minuscule lines of text. She is not exactly please about my ambition towards moving out. _

_ "Oh. Oh my." _

_ I glance up. My father is clutch the grey newspring, wrinkling the paper with his grip. He looks as though he has seen a dragon in his bathtub. _

_ "Da?"_

_ Mother sips her tea, unconcerned. "Oh, Hercules. Don't tell me the stocks rose again."_

_ "Lucius Malfoy is dead," my father says, voice hushed. _

_ The entire room — Mother, me, Sharon — freezes. My blood stills. _

_ "What?" Mother finally manages. _

_ "Stroke," Da whispers. "Yesterday morning, in the early hours. He was out for a walk."_

_ Lucius always took walks, I reflected. Morning, noon, night. It help him think. I remember Cissy saying that Draco was always pleased to be included on the rare occasion Lucius invited him along. It was an honor. _

_ Unseeing, I turn to the window. The sun is peaking out from the horizon, bright orange and firey. Narcissa must be distraught. _

_ The war had ended just over two years ago. We had not seen the Malfoys since before then, at the start of my fourth year, and only in passing. Afterwards, I had heard Lucius went prematurely white. Harry Potter had ensured that they would never serve time in Azkaban, but nothing could save them from the stress of the aftermath; the wizarding was far less forgiving than Mr. Potter. _

_ Both my parents attend the funeral. I was not allowed. Later, I heard Mother sobbing in the parlor, relaying to my sister how Cissy wept silently by the grave, how Draco — sweet little Draco she once held on her lap — was cold and stunned, silent, holding his mother's hands limply. I myself wept alone in the gardens; miserable for the family I had once considered an extension of my own. _

**-XXX-**

I look up, into the mirror. My own appearance startles me; hair half-in rollers, red eyes, runny makeup. Scolding myself, I take up the task of rolling once more. There isn't time to soak in memories. Not if I wanted to be presentable.

In the end, my hair tumbles down my back in narrow spirals. Half rests atop my head, woven into a complex sort of poof Daphne taught me ages ago. My cheeks and lips sparkle, skin glows, and I don't feel nearly as unconfident as I would have expected. In fact, nearly all apprehension has gone. Even as I stooped over the vanity to fix the crystal clips in my tresses, I feel a flash of pride. Truly, I do not look the least bit horrid.

By seven fifty-five, I am ready. I pack my clutch, focus my breathing, and apparate to the gates of Malfoy Manor.

The house has been lit up brilliantly. Snow litters the ground surrounding the structure, giving a hold for reflection and illuminating the entire grounds with a heavenly light. One cannot help but smile as they approach.

Unfortunately, I am the only one approaching. Either all the other guest have already arrived, or else I missed something vital on the invitation. Typical. My mood slips. Oh, how easily I frustrate myself.

"I do not find myself surprised at you coming the muggle way," A cold voice sounds when I reach the door. I jump back as Draco Malfoy slips from the shadows of the entry way like a serpent into water. He blends into the night nicely with a high-neck set of velvet dress robes trimmed in dark forest green. A silver knotted snake acts as a clasp. For a moment, I am held it the depths of its emerald chips of eyes. Then Draco moves, and the spell is ruined.

He is close, looming over me. "You walked?"

"I apparated to the gates."

"We lowered the wards." He raised his brows. "Did you not read the invitation?"

"I—sort of." I falter. "What are you doing out here? Should you be, I dunno, greeting guests?"

"You are a guest, are you not?"

I sigh. "I mean, people of importance."

"That's a matter of perspective," he murmurs, lifting my hand. "Of which you clearly do not possess. Come along, Mother is in agony with want to see you."

We go inside, taking our time to enter the ball room. A dull roar indicates a large number of guests. I can hear violins being tuned, a warm-up run for a pianist, the polite murmur of catering waitstaff, and the clicking of heels against patterned marble floors. These are warm, familiar noises. I tighten my grip on Malfoy's hand. Perhaps it will not be so bad.

When we enter, Draco's face seems to melt into an obstinate mask blank of emotion. He is granite, and nothing I can say will chip off the exterior stone. He presents me flatly to his mother, then stalks away, disappearing into the crowd. Narcissa doesn't appear to take note of this very Un-Draco behavior. She embraces me, then begins introductions. I am forced to dance three times before finally begging off, citing exhaustion and dehydration, fleeing before one of the dunderheads I had for dance partners offered to accompany me.

Narcissa finds me by the punch bowl. "You're quite popular tonight. And it is no wonder, in that dress." She rubs my sleeve appreciatively. "Have you seen Draco?"

I had not, not since he escorted me in. Why, was he missing?

"Perhaps," my hostess sighed. "He may be sulking around the library. These things no longer entertain him not since…well, either way he ought to be here."

Promising to keep my eyes open for her wayward son, I departed to hide behind one of the many pillars lining the ballroom. I need a moment. Some time to breath. Unfortunately, it was not coming to me anytime soon.

"Oh my, if it isn't Greengrass. You did not say your sister was going to be here, Daphne."

Pansy Parkinson stands before me, having discovering my hiding spot. Hands planted on her slim hips, she scans me up, then down, before her eyes rest on my face, narrowed and cool. My sister is beside her, silent, eyes boring into mine. They silently ask, _"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" _

"I didn't know," Daphne grounds out.

"You look adorable, Toria," Pansy simpers, using a pet name she has no permission to employ. "Are your parents here as well?"

"I would not know, we no longer share households."

Pansy's eyes, which are surrounded by a thick layer of black shadow, widen to the size of apples. "You came unaccompanied? With no date?"

My sister maintains an expression of relative indifference, though judging from the veins bulging out the back of her hands, she is furious — an angry princess in a bright magenta dress-up gown. Yes, I've finally taken note of her attire. It is a monstrosity of ruffles and lace, almost a twin to Pansy's aqua nightmare. They are poofy, extending the volume of the women by several feet. The tall hair doesn't help, either. Their bosoms swell over the sheen fabric. I am disgusted.

"I saw no reason in bringing —" I begin hotly, back stiff and tone low, only to be cut off by a fast and cold voice from behind.

Our host removes himself from the pillar I sought refuge behind, eyes blazing. His countenance is frosty, form rigid; Pansy automatically mimics the posture. Whether it is subconscious attraction, or intentional discomfort motivating the pose, I cannot tell. Nor do I particularly wish to. Right now, my entire attention is focused on our host, whose very presence has cut me off. He's speaking.

"Pansy, I am sure Greengrass felt an additional escort would be considered excessive, seeing as she is here as my most personal guest. I fail to see how her attachment is any concern of yours, however."

Parkinson scowls. "You mean she's your mother's selection for the evening."

Draco's lips twist wonderfully. The malicious attitude is clear.

"No," he says, baring his teeth. "That would be what you formally were, two years ago." Casually, as though a common action he applied every day, he takes my arm under his. "If you will excuse us."

We begin drifting grandly toward the dance floor, leaving Pansy in a huff and my sister glowering from the corner. I mean to look back, but Draco tights his grip on my elbow considerably, so as to prevent me from doing so. His expression is no longer devious, but stiff and as cold as a glacier.

"I did not know your sister would be present," he murmurs while folding me into a dance.

"Neither did I. It was a surprise."

"You shouldn't talk to hags like Pansy. "

My temper flares. He had irritated me enough by "saving" me. "Wasn't my choice to. Besides, I'll talk to whom I want, thanks. I'm not a first year, Draco."

"It is simply advice," he rebukes mildly. "After all, I was…involved with her."

I wince on his behalf. The six-year hurricane that was Draco and Pansy's relationship was common knowledge in Wizarding Britain. Even the Prophet mentioned it, now and again. It was nothing more than petty school gossip, but there have you.

"I suppose I ought to thank you for saving me," I say faintly. I've noticed that we're awfully close together. I can feel every curve of his torso press against my bodice. Suddenly, I'm feeling rather hot.

"Maybe you can return the favour sometime," he doesn't even play with masquerading lightness.

"What, save you? From what? What could Draco Malfoy possibly need saving from?"

He smiles. Bitterly. "Nothing but himself."

I squeeze his shoulders, for my hands have mysteriously migrated to rest there as we sway. "Oh, surely not."

But he merely offers another smile. This time it's softer, more natural. We do not speak for a long time. Words don't feel needed. A relief, to be sure. I seem to always find myself in the company of those who wish to fill the air with needless words. Draco, I find, understands the vivid language of silence just as well as he understands dancing. He guides me effortlessly through a series of unfamiliar steps, never glancing down, not once allowing himself to look away from me. In return, I do not step on his feet.

Gliding, I briefly forget where we are. As if we are in a bubble of glass, shielded from the buzz of the party, the only focus of one another's eyes. For I cannot tear myself away, being completely engrossed in the sweeping motions he is directing us through, from the pair of honest, unemotional grey orbs following my every turn, the cool, long-fingered hands wrapped around my waist. I feel as though I am on fire — burning brilliantly, past the point of pain. It's...fantastic.

But, as all things do, the moment ends. The music has stopped, and he is stepping away, politely complimenting me on my dancing and slipping through the mass hordes. His eyes flicker back once more, then —

I am left to be pushed by those coming and going off the dance floor, until I shake myself from the reverie and depart.

Immediately, I find him again, speaking with Narcissa. She holds a glass of punch in one hand. The other hand is clenched, barely visible in the folds of her skirt. Her face is ashen.

_"Please,"_ I see her say. But he shakes his head. And then he's on the move again, pushing through people. Many eyes follow him out, most of them unfriendly in nature. I shiver, wondering how far the appearance of Malfoy security went—or, if perhaps it was exactly that. And appearance. A mask of fear, shame, dishonor, and….

My feet are moving of their own accord. I find myself exiting the bustling ballroom to the foyer, crossing the polished floor to the stairs. Down the hall. Up the second flight, the one built in the corner. To the gleaming chestnut doors with scrolled handles. I enter soundlessly.

The library is very dark. Only the moon lends her sweet silver light, but even that is dull with distance. I walk very quietly, toes-arch-ball going down in a uniform pattern of motion. Rows and rows I pass before I am granted any sort of response.

"You ought not to have followed."

He's there, in the middle of the row, hands spread out to either shelf, as though trying to balance himself. He stands with his back to me. The shock of blond, previously immaculate, is no longer smooth but mussed beyond belief, hanging in his eyes. His robes have disappeared (probably flung into some far-corner), leaving only a white button-down shirt and plain black slacks. Several of the buttons are even undone. Overall, he's something of a mess.

"Draco," I say simply.

He makes a half-laugh. "I've always hated balls. Always. And Mother always insists, every year… _'It's what we do._'"

"Why did you leave?"

"I can, can't I? I am a grown man, capable of making decision even as minor as that," he growls. The arms remain stiff. "Everyone seems to forget-I am the man now. I'm Master Malfoy. That it's no longer my father. That I am not my father."

Every sensible muscle begs me to stay frozen, but I approach. "Who could forget?"

His head lowers, hair falling over his eyes. "Everyone, it seems. But you know what is worse? Them thinking…nothing has changed. As though, I am Father. As though, none of _it ever happened_."

"But it did."

"It did. And things have changed. So much. Volumes of change. We're not as we were; our power is fading to '_second class citizens_.'" This is said in a mocking tone. "Society has moved on from the '_standards_.' And they don't _see it!" h_e spat, gripping the wood on either side of him with a violent strength I would not have believed had I not seen it.

I am directly before him now. Though we've had our differences, he is clearly starved of human attention, longing for an ear to scream into. Pressing my palms to his back, I offer as much comfort that hands can yield, rubbing the white fabric in a constant pattern, until he turns to face me.

My hands shoot forward to cup his face, smoothing back the sheet of white-blond strands. It shines brighter than the moonlight in the library currently. He leans into my touch, eagerly, as though he has been so long without decent human contact. I stroke his skull, running one thumb over the arch of his cheek, just under his eyes, which are closed, lids fluttering.

**-XXX-**

_ He lies on his back, eyes closed. Cautious, even at eight years old, I creep forward across the manicured lawn. My some-times playmate, some-times tormentor has his defenses down. Now was the time for decision; to tickle, or to attack. _

_ A soothing breeze pushes back my hair, sending it whipping in the air, like a small flag. I pull it back, braiding it self-consciously. Daphne, who was hanging around Mother and the other women, taking tea as though she were a "_young lady," _would surely have jumped on Draco. I prefer a gentler approach — after jumping upon him, I tickle his sides mercilessly until he's doubled over, huffing for breath. _

_ "As-Astoria!" he gasps. "Y-y-you got to s-s-stop! C-c-can't breathe!" _

_ Eventually I back off, giggling madly. When Draco does finally find air, he springs to his feet, snarling and growling, charging right toward me. I pick up my skits, still laughing, and run from the garden. We seem to run for ages, Draco hot on my heels the entire time, before he catches me by the arm, and we tumble to the grass. Both aching from laughter and running, we are content to lie in the afternoon sun, musing under the puffy clouds. It's nearly a perfect day. _

_ I lived for moments like this, when Draco wasn't my sister's ringleader, an arrogant arse, but simply my friend. Not a terror, but a playmate. _

_ Staring up at the sky, a question strikes me. "You're going off to Hogwarts in a few months." _

_ "Hm," he answers, face turning up to the sun's welcomed heat. "Yes."_

_ "What house are you going to be in?"_

_ He half-sneers. "Nobody knows going in, stupid, unless they're a seer. But I think I'll be in Slytherin, regardless."_

_ I consider this. "Do you want to be in Slytherin?"_

_ "All my family's been in Slytherin. Of course."_

_ This doesn't sound so much like an answer as it does an excuse. I say aloud, "I think I'd like Ravenclaw."_

_ "What, and be stuck with all the nerds and know-it-alls? I guess that does suit you," he grumbles. "Slytherin is better, though. All the best wizards were Slytherins, once."_

_ "Not my Uncle Hector," I say stubbornly. "He's a fantastic wizard, and he was a Hufflepuff." _

_ Draco makes an incredulous sound. I punch him. He nudges me, but settles back into the grass. _

"_Why don't you want to be a Slytherin, Astoria? You'd be there with me." _

_ "Well, there is that." _

_ "Yeah, and they've got a wicked quidditch team—-you could play chaser!" He sounds hopeful. I make a face._

_ "I'd rather be seeker. Chasers fly too slowly."_

_ "But I'm going to be seeker." _

_ "You can't be seeker forever," I argue. _

_ "Can too. I'm just that good, Crabgrass." And with that, hops up, fingers outstretched. I am tickled just as mercilessly, left begging for salvation, when our mothers' voices chime from the terrace, and we are sent running inside. _

**-XXX-**

"What have they done to you?" I ask quietly. "You're not this person, you're..."

_ "Changed" _hangs in the air, but I dare not say it. He doesn't respond, doesn't seem to have heard me at all. He simply drops his hands from the shelves and leans in all the closer. Without comment, he slides his hands down my waist, drawing me to him. His head is in the crook of my neck. But his lips do not move, and he goes no further. We stand, silent, for a very long time.

I feel the urge to sooth him, and start trailing my fingers up and down his back. He, in turn, presses me closer, as though seeking to absorb me into himself. Within seconds, I feel him quaking under my touch, and I pull back to see his face - but Draco has a firm hold on my hips.

"They don't understand." Long fingers trace circles over the sheen fabric of my dress. "They can never understand-none of them lost everything, as we did." His voice is a single, strained hiss. Without warning, he drops to the floor. I am forced to fall with him, uttering a short cry. Again, he does not respond.

"We had more at stake. Well, it was expected of us. My great-grandfather followed him, my grandfather followed him, my father followed him, and I — I — " Malfoy breaks off, shaking violently. On my knees, I rub his shoulders anxiously. " — I did just the same. And I failed, on every front."

"_You _didn't fail," I whisper. "You were deceived into thinking it would be a glorious return of the old ways-not a wave of bloodshed and risk. They told you it would be a Golden Era of change, didn't they?"

"But I FAILED." His head whips up. "Even when I came over to Potter's side, I was a pathetic mess—barely a supporter. I'm a coward."

"Sometimes it takes a far braver person to admit that they know their limits than a fool who will go charging in arrogantly." I warn. "You were just following instinct. Draco…Draco…?"

He has melted before me, sinking into my arms. I caress his brow, his cheeks, neck, chest, touching everything within reach and murmuring reassurances under my breath. As if my fingertips could take away all of his stress. Heir or not, he'd not been adequately trained in living with these circumstances. Lucius never thought they would lose. This stress was draining on his very life, changing his temperament in drastic ways. No longer carefree, no longer arrogant, Draco is…altered. Between struggling to maintain a new reputation and rebuilding his family's legacy, he had to deal with shit like Pansy, and balls, and _people. _It wasn't fair.

Unable to do much more, I continue my ritual of rubbing and whispers. He calms eventually, like a child crying out their frustrations. By then, it is long past midnight. Without a word, he stands, taking me up with him. He leads me up a flight of stairs, down a hallway, and into a room. It's decorated in masculine greens, with a large bed in the center, and I quickly realize it's his.

Fearing his impression of our encounter, I look for any sort of out. But Draco simply pulls off his boots, and flops into bed, leaving a few feet for me. When I don't move from the doorway, he peeks open an eye. Grumbling, he swings out of bed clumsily, takes me by the arm, and pulls me to the downy mattress. The moment his head touches the pillow, he has mellowed. Soon his breathes are even and deep.

At first, I am scared to even consider sleep. What if he takes advantage of me? What if Aunt Cissa were to walk in? Isn't this going to wrinkle my dress?

But weariness overcomes me. Narcissa would have surely reinstalled all the wards by now, and I have no desire to trek through the snow and albino peacocks to the gate just so I can apparate. This would be fine.

**-XXX-**

Draco wakes during my attempt to quietly sneak out the following morning. He's nearly livid, demanding I stay for breakfast.

"Right, and let your mum think we got it on in her library. Totally," I say sarcastically. I'd managed to work my way out of my dress and fit it into my ever-expand purse. He watched me from the bed as I transfigured my petticoats and camisole into respectable daywear, eyes transfixed on my torso. I roll my eyes, turning my back to him. Disappointed, he sighs and flops back onto the mattress.

"It's none of her business, even if we did."

"I don't care. She doesn't deserve to think she's got such a rotten son —" I immediately regret saying this when I see his face freeze. " — and I've got to go, anyways."

"Work?" he asks, incredulous. "The day after New Year's?"

I flash him a smile. "No, I've got to feed my cat."

So I leave him disgruntled, tangled in his bed sheets, wearing a rumbled set of dress clothes.

**-XXX-**

**Yay? Nay? What do you think? Too fast? Good character? I'll take any questions/comments/concerns. **

**Edited Jan 28th 2013**


	3. Letters of Intent

**Sweetly Drowning III**

**Just to clarify, they didn't "sleep" together. They slept together in the sense that they got some REMs. **

**I hope you enjoy, please review, and sorry for any mistakes. Still no beta. So...yeah. **

**Please, I'd love some feedback. **

**-XXX-**

"Why would anyone need this?" Kara Macmillan asks, holding up a pair of shrunken heads by their coarse braids. I look up from the ivory elephant figurine I'd been examining, dropping the small information card back onto the table.

"I've heard their key in a number of potions. Personally, I would prefer a fresh head over this."

Kara makes a face. "Ew.

The younger Macmillan had been sorted into Ravenclaw with me, to the great disappointment of her brother. In our fifth year, she was made a prefect. We played on the quidditch team together as well. Macmillan was a brilliant chaser, while I took position as seeker my third year. Kara was so brilliant, she was picked up by the Holyhead Harpies, just a month after graduation.

This particular week is an off one for the entire team, so she met me in London for lunch and shopping. We plan to hit up muggle London later in the afternoon, but as of right now we are persuing Borgin and Burkes for oddities. It's early Feburary, still nippy, and the shop isn't much better. But it's worth all the weirdness.

Ever since the end of the war, the Ministry has taken up extreme measures toward cleaning up the sketchy Knockturn Alley. They maintained a not-so-subtle watchful eye on the place and those who partroned it shops, like Kara and I are now. In fact, we'd seen one casually patrolling from a street corner. Dressed in a scruffy beard and patched puce-coloured cloak, he smoked a long pipe. It was the shoes — polished and standard black — that were dead giveaways.

Still, the street is cleaner, and less creepy overall. The streetlights are regularly replaced, and the patrol wizards send the meeker thugs into the shadows.

Even Borgin and Burkes has been marginally improved, now that they know the Ministry is monitoring their transactions. Now all the most dangerous contraband and illegal wares are housed in the basements, locked and illusioned with many wards.

The young shopkeeper (neither a Borgin, nor a Burkes), watches us from behind his spectacles, which are modern black plastic and square-framed. He even has one earbud inserted into his left year. Kara is mostly the object of his glance—a normal symptom of her loveliness and fame. I suppress a smile.

My gaze has just fallen to a set of rubies when the shop's bell rings overhead. Someone entered, but I paid no mind, forgetting just where we were, as if this were an ordinary shop. The rubies hold my attention firmly. They sit on black velvet, draped under a silver chain. In the dull light, their fire is dim, but I have no doubt that with some elbow grease they would blaze. I stoop to get a close look. Almost simultaneously, Kara stiffens. This, too, I ignore.

"These are quite old. I wonder…" I murmur to her. "What year? They're too tooled to be much older than 10th century — " With a sigh, I move to stand, accepting the hand offered to me.

A hand, it turns out, that does not belong to my friend. Draco Malfoy eyes become level with mine. I shiver, recalling our last incident, roughly a month ago. Though he'd sent a few owls, are interaction hadn't reoccurred. I'd work hard to avoiding thinking about the whole thing-the lower, muttered cry, his quaking shoulders and shuddering figure, the way he cupped my face and stared with pure intention at me for minutes.

"I would believe it to be 12th, myself. Perhaps 13th, early," he says by way of a greeting. After a pregnant pause (during which I stare blankly), he finishes. "Hello, Astoria."

"Mr. Malfoy." I'm incredibly uncertain as to where we stand. It has been, after all, weeks since our last encounter. He'd not come by the shop once, nor had he owlet.

The corners of his mouth are pulled down, making him appear both displeased and amused.

"Draco," he reminds simply. I pretend to be occupied with dusting myself off. Our last interaction was awkward, to say the least. He doesn't seem to recall, or at the very least, doesn't want to be reminded. "What brings you to Borgin and Burkes?"

"Just browsing. Nothing specific."

"Not thrills and kicks? You seemed to think this was the very height of danger not so long ago," he teases, becoming suddenly playful. Almost. The edge is still there. But even so, his light nature is sweet, and I marvel at it, wondering. Is he…flirting?

"You remember."

"Of course. Sneaking in here while our mothers were shopping, hands stuffed in our pockets lest we die from touching one of these beauties." He nods to the necklace. "Are you looking for fine jewelry?"

I shake my head, shifting my weight. "Not particularly."

Kara has wandered to the front of the shop. She leans against the counter, hips jutting out, chatting with the man behind it. The earbud is out now. He's pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and is smiling easily. Huh. He's not so terrible looking, now that he's grinning and sitting up straight.

My attention is diverted back to Draco, who stands over me, whispering in my ear. "I could get it for you, if you wish."

I jump back unintentionally, causing him to smirk as my back presses against his chest. I jolt forward, nearly knocking over a display of crystal stirring sticks. "In exchange for what?"

His fingers are on my neck, stroking my short hairs, tugging slightly. Just enough to force me to lean into him. My back, against his chest. Arms covered by his arms. Derrière against his —

"Nothing you wouldn't freely give."

"Are you attempting to buy me?" I hiss. His mood swings are beginning to bother me. Surely, friendly, cold, distressed, now…seductive?

I can practically hear him smirk. "As I said, it would be nothing you wouldn't freely give."

"I don't know what you've heard about me, Mr. Malfoy," I say, tensing with every word. He shifts against me, teasing again. "But I assure you, whatever that impression may be —"

"Oh, I've heard nothing of the sort," he promises me. "If anything, they all assume you're a prude —" Which is so much better, thanks. "— rather than a tramp. After all, you sister has taken that title. But that doesn't change my offer. Do you want it, Astoria?"

I wonder how Kara hasn't even noticed the harassment being played out before her. Perhaps Draco put a distraction charm on this section of the shop. It's perfectly plausible, knowing his love of trickery.

"No."

"You didn't even consider."

"I don't need to."

"Humor me."

"No."

Draco frowns. "Ah, well. Something else, then."

Helpless, I shake my head, turning out of his grasp.

He lowers his voice. "What, then?"

"I can't read you." I say, frustration tingeing my tone. "Once moment, you're gentlemanly and sincere. The next, you are…Hamlet, calling me a fish monger! Then, you go straight to—-this!" I gesture wildly.

Draco scowls. "I've not altered at all, Astoria."

"You most certainly have. Not simply now, but since— since - " Unwilling to allow the conversation to move further, I halt. We're in a shop. In public.

Dark eyes flicker to mine, holding a solid gaze. "It's called growing up."

"No, it's called being a prat."

He sighs. "What do you suggest I do?"

"I don't want to talk about it here," I mumble.

"So don't. Have lunch with me."

Looking back at Kara, I feel guilty when my heart does a half-flip. She is engrossed in the shopkeeper, but waves merrily upon seeing me. I offer a lame half-smile.

"I can't. Kara and I are going out. It's been arranged for weeks."

"I cannot think she will mind too terribly."

"Still…." I bite my lip.

"We need to talk." Draco is serious now. "Dinner, then."

Hesitant, I nod.

Pleased, he tells me he will pick me up around six, and that I should wear something fairly _"nice." _

"Fine." This discussion has made me weary.

"Fine," he echoes, as if to hear his own voice. We drift together toward the shop's door.

"You never said why you are in here."

"Hm."

"So, why are you in here?" I rephrase the implied question. "Buying contraband?"

Malfoy chuckles. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? No, I would've thought it was obvious."

"Obvious?"

"I came here to see you."

"Oh." Blinking, I shake my head. "No, sorry, I'm afraid that wasn't obvious."

He smiles brilliantly. His entire being improves with the grin. Handsome, even when scowling, Malfoy is twenty times more attractive when he grins like he is now.

**-XXX-**

_"I'm going to be seeker." Draco announces to me from the top of the stairs in the grand foyer. Mother, Daphne, and I had just entered the Manor. I pull myself from Narcissa's arms as he bounds down. It's June, and the first time we'll have seen each other since Christmas. Draco has just finished his first year. _

_ "You can't be!" I cry._

_ He beams. "Yes, I can. Their old one has graduated, and Father is working it out so that I can play." _

_ Narcissa sighs, but a fond smile is playing across her lips. "He can't stop talking about it." she tells Mother. _

_ "Are you sure it's safe?" Mother asks anxiously. _

_ We are excused to the garden, where Draco shows me all the tricks he'd been practicing with his new broomstick. It gleams in the afternoon sun. I run a finger across the smooth surface before Draco snatches it from me. _

_ "Do you want to ride?" His eyes are bright. _

_ "Can I?"_

_ "Only if it's with me. Your mum will freak, otherwise." _

_ We mount the broom. I take the back, clinging to Draco's thin shoulders. In no time, we've lifted off to soar high above. For fun, Draco flies near the woods behind the Manor, letting our toes skim tree branches, then shoots us straight back up to somersault once, twice, three times. I cannot stop giggling as the G-force presses on my chest. My hair ribbon flies out during one spiral, and Draco swings us round and darts forward to snatch it from the air. I cheer, nearly falling off as he jolts us back toward home. _

_ Daphne, who stayed indoors with Mother, is clearly jealous even as Aunt Cissy fusses over my windswept hair and rumpled clothes._

**-XXX-**

Dessert is being finished, along with our wine, when the subject of change is approached.

Malfoy has been completely wonderful all evening-polite, funny, just flirty enough to convince me, ever the shy girl, to relax. We share a whole bottle of Chardonnay why he charms me with witty stories and memories of our youth. The war is left untouched. For a while, it is easy to forget that there was a war, that Draco was ever a Death Eater, once The Draco Malfoy.

But, considering it was the motivation behind our dinner, the subject does arise.

"You cannot 'read' me?" The term sounds foreign on his lips.

"'Figure you out,'" I translate. "Because you're…different. You're not the carefree Malfoy I grew up with."

"Maybe I never was, my dear," he says smoothly. I roll my eyes, realizing this is perhaps juvenile, and settle for a sigh.

"No, you're…." Struggling for the words, I take my glass by the stem, considering the golden liquid. "Quieter. Less social. Prone to mood swings at the drop of a hat. Shiftier in tone. Gentler. Less irritating. Withdrawn. You do not…want to talk of substantial things. Of your success. And that is weird. For you, anyways."

"Does that just about sum it up?" He is quiet.

"Just about."

"And the 'since?'"

I swallow. "The war, perhaps. You've altered by fractions. Normally I wouldn't give a damn, however, you see, intent on staying in my life, so…and it's not all bad. You're a better person, you know. Anyone can see that. And, in some ways, I think you may be happier. But I still —" Another breath. "— worry."

The babbled speech ends there. Draco is expressionless during the evaluation of my words. He leans forward after a few seconds. "You shouldn't. It's sweet of you. Truly. But you shouldn't."

"It isn't my business."

"Perhaps not," he agrees. "But if it were to be a problem—which, I do not consider it to be—I cannot say I would mind your…concern. However, with that being said, I am fine."

We are interrupted before I can respond. Susan Bones, a classmate, beaming as ever, waves from across the restaurant. She picks her way around the tables toward me. Across from me, Draco winces, and turns away from the voice, turning into the table.

"It's been years!"

I stand to embrace her, voice warm as I say, "Susan, you look amazing!"

Susan had been a Hufflepuff, in Ernie's class. As of now, she was engaged to MacMillan, set to be Kara's official sister-in-law sometime in late July. I liked them as a couple. They were a new generation - not nearly as stuffy or formal as the elder purebloods, far more openly affectionate, and clearly in love.

"So do you! Merlin, it's been ages! Did you get a wedding invitation?"

I see Draco's shoulders tense, and I unintentionally frown. "Yes, I got the owl last week. Lovely stationary. I loved the violets."

"Oh good! I'll see you there, shall I? And perhaps, your one-plus -" She turns to my tablemate. I quickly realize that his back has been to her since she entered the restaurant, that he had purposefully angled himself awkwardly. Susan falters.

Quickly, I step up to introductions. "Susan, you remember Draco? I believe he was in your class."

Susan, who has the sweetest disposition, has a look of sheer terror plastered on her round face. Her two of her aunts, an uncle, and several cousins had been killed by Death Eaters -Draco's former idols. They stare at one another. I babble a few bits of his accomplishments, trying desperately to diffuse the tension.

That's when Hannah Abbot appears, working her way through the sea of tables to take her place at Susan's elbow. "Astoria?"

I greet her weakly, making introductions again. Unlike Susan, her disgust is clearly written across her face with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Draco's own features are going cold.

"Abbot, Bones. Good to see you. You both appear to be doing well."

"No thanks to you," Hannah spits. It's hard for me to believe this meek young girl who easily cracked under the strain of O.W.L.s to be so forward with a former Death Eater. But war changes us all.

Draco and I both wince. I hurry to say, "We were just leaving, right, Draco?"

Hannah cuts across me, incredulous. "You're here _with _him?"

"I'll see you at the wedding, yeah, Susan? Tell Ernie hey," I grab my clutch from the table, pulling Draco out of his seat, not making eye contact with anyone. He snags the bill. "Bye, Hannah, Susan. Good seeing you!"

Draco takes the lead from there, pressing a hand to the small of my back as we wade through the tables. He pays at the front. I don't bother in protesting. After all the trouble he's gotten me into with the former Hufflepuffs, I feel as though the bill tango is a waste of time. Let him pay.

Together we exit, both feeling the gaze of the two women burning the back of our skulls. Once outside, Draco takes up my hand. But we don't apparate. Instead, we walk wordlessly through the maze of streets.

I'm the one who breaks the silence after about twenty minutes. "Well, that was awkward."

He snorts. "My, you understate things so nicely."

"It might've been worse." No blood was shed, after all.

"Hardly."

I bite my lip. "Does this normally happen when you go out?"

"Yes," he says wearily. "Only they're typically not so polite."

"I'm surprised they recognized you."

"Just because you don't read the business section of the papers doesn't mean others don't."

I cannot tell if he's angry, annoyed, or merely mildly upset. Completely unreadable. We pass a muggle couple, tucked into the threshold of an empty shop. Hidden in the shadows, they embrace. The woman smiles, impossibly content. When they begin to kiss, I look away quickly. My gaze crosses Draco, who had been looking. I feel suddenly hot. We walk on. Draco looks down on me. His flash of amusement is practically tangible.

"Embarrassed, Astoria?"

"I'm simply not a fan of public displays of affection. However, it seems to amuse you."

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Ah, but I assure you, my dear, it isn't they who amuses me so. You do it well enough on your own."

"Prat."

"So charming," he groans. Without warning, he pauses. "So, you say you're not a fan….does that refer to merely watching displays of affection, or partaking of them?"

"Both," I say stubbornly. He's looming over me suddenly, looking down. Blimey, I forgot how tall he is…. Anxious, I back away. By now, we've stopped walking. In the dim light of the street lamp, his features are muddled. I can only see bright eyes tracing out the features of my face.

"Come now, how many times have you partaken of anything of that nature? Surely not much."

"How would you know?"

"You're bookish."

I ought to be offended, but I cannot bring myself to even be slightly upset. "So? You're making a horrid generalization."

"Come on, you can't have. Not at lot, at least."

"Are all Slytherins such huge prats?" I wonder aloud.

"Ah, there's a generalization if ever I heard one."

"Not if it's the truth."

"But who can define truth?" He shifts closer, face mere inches from mine. His lips over just over my lips. Ever word causes vibrations against my skin.

"Oh, don't get all philosophical."

"Very well," The distance between us closes as he presses his lips to mine, apparently deciding kisses weren't philosophical in anyway. I sigh. His forehead rests against mine. For a brief moment, the street is completely still.

Then Draco kisses my head.

"Let's go," he says, voice low. Without warning, he apparates us to the hall outside of my flat. I retrieve my keys and open the door. Draco starts to follow me inside, pauses, a peculiar expression crossing his features.

"What is it?"

Stiffly, he pulls back. "I've got to go."

"Oh, okay." I cannot help the disappointment that tinges my voices.

He frowns at my tone. "Don't - oh, come here."

I obey, slightly resentful of it. He doesn't touch me. Seriousness colours his eyes.

"I've only just realized I have some sensitive business to care for. I promise, I will owl you. Soon." That's when he cups my face, kissing me lightly, as though I'm some sort of glass figurine, his hands skimming my wait so delicately, and -

He's gone.

**-XXX-**

For a while, we write. We write because he's been called away to France on business. So we owl.

His letters vary. Some are short and tense, marking his street. Others are long, liquid, and greatly detailed. He happily describes vineyards, delicate pastry shops, sends over expensive wines. For a time, we have a tentative correspondence. Debates are harder to conduct over text, even if the letters come every other day. We settle for being polite, reserving our more biting comments for rainy days.

_Astoria-_

_ I met a wizard today who could charm flowers to sing. Between the violets and lilies, I couldn't choose. So, here's both. I hope the trip across the channel didn't cause them to whilt. Next week I shall be in Germany for business meeting, conducting the annual Magical Being Mount. Shall I send some chocolates, or ale? Or that sweetbread you like as a child?_

_Did I tell you about my new translation spell? I know Galmote made one back in the 60s, but everyone acknowledges it as somewhat faulty. This one works between the ears and the vocal chords…._

_ Astoria-_

_ Why must the world be filled with imbeciles? For the most part, the French are generally accepting of the Malfoy name, however last week a very untactful, tastelss expose of our business in mainland Europe. Needless to say, Mother has been utterly disgraced here-she's coming home Thursday. But I am staying for the rest of the month. Too much depends me. I still have a lot of marketing to do. Far too many meetings, as well, that cannot be rescheduled, not if I want to finish the deal._

_ Naturally, I am in no way pleased with this bad press. Publicity or not, it is not acceptable. Indeed, I feel enraged. The war is long over, and our business transactions are remarkably clean. The past is the past, yet all refuse to accept that. My father's lifestyle and choice still affect business, however. I've already written to the editors, as well as employed several freelancers to defend the cooperation. I am a man of integrity; it is my right. _

_ Your letters have been a little short, my dear, are you feeling well? As I said, I should be in the country toward the end of the month, for a few days at least. Might I take you out one day? _

_Astoria-_

_ As it turns out, I shan't be returning in April. Forgive me, but things here are too tense. My mother tells me that you shall not be in any way pleased. Forgive me, forgive me. How I wish to see you-it's been months. I know flowers and perfume cannot make up for absence. But know that I lament this alteration._

_ I'm getting closer to finding the proper amount of newt eye for the potion of internal heat, did I tell you? The papers over here are late to spread the news, but no matter. England will soon know._

_I'm sending over some chocolates. I know it's not a proper sorry…._

After a while, the letter stop coming a regularly. By the start of April, I find myself writing more letters than I'm receiving. Soon, my replies are getting nothing in return aside from the occasional bouquet. At first I fear the worst. Then, I'm angry. It is when I begin seeing photos of the prat spread across the international travel section of the _Prophet_ that I'm really set off. Clearly if someone is eating out a five-star restaurants every evening they're not too busy to write a letter or two. Enraged, I write a scathing note when the next package of silk roses for my hair arrives.

_Clearly you believe I am at your beck and call. You are much mistaken, Mr. Malfoy. I am not certain what sort of relation we are engaged in, but I can assure you, sir, that it shall not continue on your arrival to the country. Though, judging from your lack of correspondence, this will be of little consequence._

_ Yours Most Sincerely,_

_ Astoria Greengrass_

**-XXX-**

Several days later, I receive an owl at my flat window-

_We need to talk. -D_

I owl back at once.

_No. -A_

He returns the owl. It doesn't take more than an hour, causing me to think he is, most likely, back in the country.

_Come now, stop being childish. -D_

_ No. I'm deeply offended. -A_

_ You're being highly immature, Astoria. -D_

_ And you're being a rude prat. -A_

By about the tenth note, we've had to switch owls. My message has been adequately applied; he finally agrees to leave me alone. For now.

_I'm sorry, Astoria. -D_

**-XXX-**

**Whadya think? **

**Comments, concerns, reviews, questions, just click the button! **

**Edited Jan 28th 2013**


	4. And Flowers to Float

**Sweetly Drowning, **

**Chapter 4 **

**Not a bad response. Thank you for the support. Please review if you haven't yet-I would greatly appreciate feedback. **

**Still no beta. I've asked, but no response yet. So, sorry about all grammatical mistakes, but I've been trying. **

**-XXX-**

"Try not to freak, but I think you should move on. Literally. Move." Kara leans across the table, face perfectly serious. "Move, get out of here."

"Where?" I ask her, wiping my cheeks. They are damp with half-dried tears. I pull my mug close to me, wrapping my hands 'round the base. After the constant letter flow between myself and a certain prat, I'd called my best friend. We sat in my kitchen, a box of biscuits between us. "This is where I've been since…and it's perfect."

I love my apartment. It's within two minutes of Flourish and Blotts, a prime piece of real estate in Diagon Alley, comfortable in size and amenities. I could find nothing better in London. Besides, I've settled over the last four years. All my neighbors were friends. I frequented the ice cream parlor, the Caldron, was on good terms with all of the shopkeepers. This had become my life in every aspect. The only negative of living here was the pet policy—nothing but owls and cats were allowed in the flat. Dogs were too loud, the landlady claims, and horses were simply out of the question.

"Come to Holyhead, with me." She insists. "We'll get you a nice cottage, and it will be so lovely."

"No, no, too far. I'd hate to be so far…" I love Diagon Alley. I love London. "But Whales sounds like a good start."

This leads to pulling out a map of the island. For several hours, we pour over the section labeled WALES, searching for any village, port, or city that could hold me. We kept returning to Cardiff.

"It's perfect. Right by the sea. Large enough. Great wizard population. I can Floo in or apparate every day." The idea is still troublesome, but now the idea of Cardiff softens the worry. "I could even get a dog."

Kara is excited too. "It's a booming new city. Historic, and not too far away from Holyhead or London."

"_Or Wiltshire" _is left hanging in the air. I ignore it. "Alright, then. Let's find a real estate agent."

**-XXX-**

A month of browsing brings me a gem. Two story, two-bedroom, two-bath, 1912 creation with solid wood floors. It's not too far from the wizarding section of the city, a bit of a fixer-upper, and is just over my budget. I purchase it, borrowing a small fraction from my parents. Kara comes on her off days to help me pack up the apartment I'll be leaving behind, and to ward off the tears. My new house is beautiful, but nothing can stop me from loving this flat where I have spent most of my adult life.

I move in on one rainy Tuesday in April. Kara is in training for the Cup, which is being held in Texas this year. She plans to swing by to help me around seven. Right now it's four, and I'm bouncing between the buildings, carrying boxes with each aparation. It is quite a task. In between one of these trips, I'm startled on my arrival back in my Diagon Alley flat by a series of loud pounding on my door. A muffled voice is calling through the wood, inquiring after my presence. _Kara?_

Without checking, I unlock and open the door. Draco Malfoy stands before me, completely drenched. Startled, I step back as he pushes past me to enter the flat. A haze of stress follows him in like a shade. It glooms up the entire room. I shut the door.

He stands in the middle of the room, breathing heavily. "I was in the neighborhood. I saw your light was on."

This is a complete surprise. But not enough to stop me from saying, rather saucily, "And?"

"I don't like this. Not talking to you."

I raise my eyebrows. "We've only met a handful of times since you tactlessly ask me to stay the weekend while your mum was in France. The ball, dinner, and…well, I can't think of much besides that. We've barely seen one another."

Draco scowls. "It wasn't like that. And the precise amount of time doesn't matter—I still miss you."

I lean against the door, fingering my necklace. It's a simple quartz charm someone gave to me when I was a kid. I don't exactly recall who.

"I'm sorry." I say quietly

"Don't say that." He warns. "Don't apologize as though you're not going to try again. We can be friends."

"Friends don't just stop owling other friends after several lovely months of constant contact."

"Astoria, I was wrong, horridly rude, please forgive me."

"Yeah, you were. And I forgive you."

"And?" he waits. I continue fiddling with the quartz.

"What?"

"C'mon, we can still be friends. And -"

"But that's all?" I cannot help but be amused. "You _just _want to be friends."

Malfoy grits his teeth. "You know what I mean."

"I honestly don't. Please elaborate."

"Fine." Draco says. "I want something more than friends. I want you to ignore everything that's happened till now. Forget everything we've ever said. I want you to focus on how you feel."

"Pissed off," I say off-handedly.

"Feel deeper." He snaps.

With a sigh, I close my eyes. Draco stalks forward. His breath tickles my neck, cheeks, and nose. For a moment, I forget our arguments. My anger. His blatant disregard for…everything. It's simply me, standing here. His breath caressing my skin, the smell of rain on him, his damp hands running up and down my back (just as mine had that night, in the library), the slow way our chests brush one another with matching exhales. For a moment, that's all I can sense. It's all I want to sense.

I open my eyes, blinking up. He's much closer that I'd thought. One bent finger forces my chin up, so that I'm mere inches from his face, staring right into his eyes. Without realizing, I've entangled myself in his arms. How did that even happen?

He's whispering in my ear. I shudder as the vibrations prickle me. "Please?"

As though struck by lighting, I jump back, tearing myself from his hold-as best I can with the door behind me. My lower back hits the door handle. I wince, opening my eyes.

"Ouch."

Draco takes no pity on me. I slide out from between him and the door. Determined, I storm in to the kitchen, set on filling the kettle, only to remember it's in Whales at the moment, and probably won't be returning. Draco has not followed me, which gives me the happy impression that he might've left. Alas, I wait, but the door doesn't slam. I heat the water in the microwave, then return to the living room with two steaming mugs. As I suspected, he was still there, arms crossed. A scowl mars his features.

"If you keep doing that, you'll end up with some very unattractive wrinkles in your old age," I tell him, passing him a mug of tea. The glare remains.

"Why are all your things in boxes?"

My gaze sweeps the room guiltily. Ah, the evidence. I curse under my breath. "I happened to be in the midst of packing, actually, when you darken my doorway."

"You opened the door." He counters. "And what is this? Packing for what?"

"Well, people traditionally pack when they're moving."

"You're leaving?" His voice is abruptly flat.

"In a way, yes. But, I'm still going to be at the shop." As if that mattered.

And it doesn't. "I don't give a damn about your job."

"Thanks, that's reassuring." I quip.

Draco sets his mug down, sloshing more than a little tea onto the side table. "What about me?"

I level with his gaze. "You've not spoken to me for roughly a month and a half. Do you remember that month, or so, when you stopped returning my letters? It's not exactly like my life revolves around you, besides, Draco."

"You might've said something, perhaps. I'd have liked to known."

I scoff loudly. "It's Whales, not another continent. It shouldn't make a difference, I'll still be at the shop every day to fill your precious orders."

He'd had about twenty of them since December. All for a variety of things-horiculture, history, biographies, charm books, potion recipes, ancient manuscripts, foreign tomes filled with spells in runes, records of weather. Weird things. And, since I'd filled most of his previous requests, Drew automatically placed all responsibility on me. For the oldest, rarest books I had to deliver directly to his house. But, seeing as he was in France most of the time, this meant I had to visit Malfoy Manor. Which was not so bad. Aunt Cissa always insisted I say for tea. Plus, she had fantastic biscuits.

"You know that is not what this is about."

"Then tell me, Malfoy, what all of this is about. Enlighten me as to why, under your order, I cannot freely move homes."

He is silent, fuming. Instead of replying, he pushes away his mug, putting his hands on his knees. I note the damp cloak still around his shoulders. Isn't he cold? Why is he still wearing a cloak indoors. My voice drops.

"I need a change."

"I want you to…stay. Come back to me…let me in."

Gritting my teeth, I shake my head. "Why, I never left. You're the one who stopped writing to me. None of those things require me to stay here necessarily."

"But I want you to stay. Is that enough?"

The room falls to stillness. "I think you know the answer to that."

In the folds of his cloak, I see his fists clench. I wince. Draco's eyes are burning stones. He's not quite angry, but rather, gravelly disappointed. "Very well. I can see that your mind is made up. I suppose this is…."

Fury overtakes me. "If you say 'over,' I swear I will find some way to make you regret it using only my bare hands." I threaten. "You're being overly-dramatic. Honestly, I swear you can-"

I don't finish this, for I find him looming over me in mere seconds. Looming, though still seated. Ragged, he whispers, "For a quiet person, you talk far too much sometimes."

This is followed by his preferred method of shutting me up, which apparently is kissing. Not that I mind in the least, for Draco is a very good kisser, regardless of his years spent kissing Pansy. Just judging from her face, she can't have been that good.

When I feel him bite my lower lip, I gasp, giving him the chance to dive into my mouth, plundering with his tongue. It's probably been years since I've macked anyone like this, so I am a little out of sync to start with. But I quickly pick up. After all, it's just like riding a bike. With your tongue. In someone else's mouth.

Okay, maybe not like riding a bike at all. But analogies are hard to create at this particular moment, understandably. He's impossibly cold, whereas I'm warm from the tea, and from being indoors. Lazy hands trace their way up and down my back and torso. I muss up his hair as we move in unison, loving the liquid feel of his mouth moving against mine. Why haven't we done this before? This should be something we do all the time. Why argue? Why…anything?

When we come up for air, both Draco and I are significantly mellower.

**-XXX-**

But it's not nearly enough. I'm still leaving London, and he's still furious. Neither of us will admit wrongdoing, so we end up butting heads again.

"I've already bought the house. Half of my stuff is there. I can't just back out now, that would be ridiculous."

His nostrils flared. "Ridiculous is not telling me you were leaving."

"Of, for Merlin's sake." I snap. "You're not my mother. And I'm not going to simply pack everything up and stay in London just because you demand it."

"Why not?"

"We're not even dating. We're just…." I struggle to find an appropriate term. "…doing things!"

"_'Doing things._' That's how you would define this. '_Doing things.'_ Bloody fantastic."

I snarl. "I'm sorry, apparently I wasn't present when you decided we were exclusive. You said nothing, absolutely _nothing_ about being all formal about this. So pardon me if I am mistake on just what, exactly, we are."

"You might've asked. Even if we were technically 'together,' I might've expected some sort of notice!"

"And as you can see, you didn't get one!"

And so it goes. We argue in circles, Draco bargaining for anything, me twisting out of all commitment without looking back. Finally, I fall onto the couch, tired of the bickering. Draco still stands, looking murderous. He's tried nearly everything in the book, short of a marriage proposal. Blackmail, begging, buying, seduction. I do not yield. I'm moving, and that was final.

When he finally does realize that nothing can possibly change my mind, he sits beside me, crossing his arms. I pass him an accent pillow. Grumbling, he flattens it against his belly to allow for my head. He's mad, but it is subdued now that he's raged himself out. We're both tired. There's no reason to continue fighting now, and I'm too lazy to continue with my packing, so I send Kara a quick text telling her I was done for the night. That being done, I settle against my pissed-off Malfoy, both of us listening to the rain against the windows.

**-XXX-**

"When did he leave?" Kara asks in a hushed voice. It is two days later. We're in my new house. Every so often I run my hands over the rough wooden table, the one that sits in the center of the kitchen. Aged, it has been worn shiny with years of being rubbed.

"Ah…the next morning. Maybe?" I tell her, tracing the lip of my mug. Kara's eyes follow my fingers, narrowing. It is pretty common knowledge that I tend to touch things frequently when nervous or agitated.

Her eyes widen. "Not until morning?"

"Yeah. We had breakfast. Then he left."

"Mummy didn't barge in at all during then night?"

I snort. "I think by now she pretty much expects him to be out all night every night. It's a standard."

She whistles. "My my. Quite serious indeed. Has this rule been installed since—"

"God, no. Besides, he's not technically living in the house."

Kara drains her mug, then stands to rinse it and put it in the sink. She whips out her cell to check the time. I wait. Today is technically an off day for her, but coach apparently warned her there might be an emergency meeting with the team managers around one. We'd been on pins and needles all day. The managers were known to be difficult fellows. Kara wasn't looking forward to the potential visit. And as boring as unpacking my new place is attending a manager meeting.

"It's fifteen-till, sweet, I doubt they're going to call you now."

She rolls her eyes. "Clearly you haven't met our managers. But then again, maybe if you came to a game or two, you might have had the chance to."

I grimace. "You know, I am an awful friend for not having gone in ages—"

"Yes, you most certainly are, you bum."

Ignoring her, I continue. "And I did promise to come if you made it to the Cup. I will take the entire weeks off, wear team gear, and sit in the best box. If the Harpies make it."

"Which we will," Kara says determinedly.

Actually, they were quite certain to go to the Cup this year. They had a new chaser, fresh from Hogwarts who is apparently a relation of the Smethwyks, the family that produced Elliot Smethwyk (inventor of the cushioning charm used on broomsticks) and Leopoldina Smethwyk, the first woman to referee a quidditch match. Sammy Smethwyk is an import of New Zealand, from the Moutohora Macaws. She was supposed to be very fast, very good, and very technical about quidditch. In other words, Sammy was bringing the Harpies to their first World Cup in over twenty years. It was exciting.

"Sit down, they're not going to call."

"Wanna bet?" Kara mumbles.

"Not particularly, no."

We're startled by a sudden tapping upon the kitchen window. I jump about a foot in the air before seeing the barred owl standing impatiently on the ledge. I cross to the sink, pushing aside the flower pots and opening the leaded window. It creaks loudly. Everyone, owl included, winces.

The bird flutters in indigently, dropping a cellophane-wrapped bundle. A bouquet. In its dark beak there is a small envelop, made of some creamy, calico-printed paper you get from the florist's. Around the envelop, the owl hoots, asking me to kindly remove its parcel so that it might be on its way.

"Alright, alright." I tell it, taking the paper. Noting the address from the silver stamp on the front say London, I am guilted into retrieving some stale owl treats from the recesses of my pantry, as well as provide a small bowl of water. Grateful, the creature partakes of the meal before popping out the window. I shut it, then return to the table. I un-tuck the flap of the envelop to find a small card.

_"A housewarming gift. Please enjoy. –D"_

Kara's nose is buried in the blossoms. "Mmmmm, these are divine."

I examine the lot. Twisted with ivy, there is jonquil narcissus, lavender hydrangeas, delicate balsamine, coriander greens, hollyhock, shocks of dark arum, and moonflower.

"Very lovely," Kara says, fingering the waxy petals of the arum. "What's this?"

"Arum. Ardor, in floriography."

Curiously, she looks up. "Floriography?"

"The language of flowers. Silliness mother made us learn. She thought it was still in style."

"So, what, it's like the symbolism in different sorts of bouquets?"

I shrug. "Basically. They used to use it a lot in the Victorian times. Like, everything was behind doors then, so they had to send each other things like this. Secret notes, almost."

This excites Kara. She's a sometimes-romantic. "Well, what does this one say?"

She pushes the bouquet across the table to me. Rolling my eyes heavily, I inspect the blooms. After a moment, I begin, pointing to each in turn.

"Arum, as I said, is for ardor. Hydrangea can be interpreted as cold-natured, or heartlessness. Ivy for dependence. Balsamine is impatience. Coriander, lust," I touch the soft hollyhock petals. "These, hollyhock, are symbols of ambition. Moonflower, for dreams of love. And the jonquil—-they're a form of narcissus—-typically mean 'return my affection.'"

"Whoa." Kara shakes her head. "Who knew so much could come from flowers? And geeze, that's such a mixed signal. Then again, I guess he didn't understand the 'language.'"

"You'd be surprised." I say wryly. "I think Master Malfoy knew exactly what he was saying."

"So, what? He's adores you, lusts for you, but where does that cold-hearted part come in?"

"I believe he was referring to me."

**-XXX-**

_ "Flowers. Are. Stupid." Draco declares. _

_ I look to the flower wreath I am weaving, disagreeing very much in my head. I ignore him to continue my work. By now I've learned it is best to leave Draco to his opinions and thoughts. As a nearly-fourth year, he naturally thought all of his opinions were valid._

_ Soon, I would be boarding the train with my sister and Draco for Hogwarts. Less than three weeks, now, and Hogwarts would become my home. I am excited, nervous, and—and—_

_ "Are you going to be in Slytherin?"_

_ "Nobody knows going in, stupid." I mimic, saying the exact words he once dished to me. Draco sneers, hitting me lightly on the head. _

_ "You ought to be." _

_ I do not look up from my flowers. "Why?"_

_ "Because, I'm in Slytherin!"_

_ I consider this, picking several purple clovers to my left. Draco watches my hands carefully. "But so is Daphne."_

_ "I can keep you away from her."_

_ The offer is tempting, but there is something more than that luring me away from the house of snakes. It just doesn't sound right. Like, it wouldn't fit. As if we were out shopping and he kept trying to convince me to buy a sweater that is much too big, saying, _"You'll grow into it."

_ But I don't think I can. _

_ "I don't know." I finally say, plucking at the hem of my dress. "I mean, it's Slytherin."_

_ He's frowning, incredulous. "Where else would you go?"_

_ "Ah…I don't know." I reflect on what little I had heard on the other houses. My uncle Hector was a Ravenclaw, and he had loved it. Whenever visiting, he'd swear (much to the irritation of my parents) that I belonged in that house. It sounded pleasant. "I thought, perhaps, maybe Ravenclaw sounded nice."_

_ "Ravenclaw?" Draco is gaping now. "And be put in with all the snobs and know-it-alls and nerds? How stupid are you, Snodgrass? No, it's Slytherin where you belong."_

_ "But I don't want to be in Slytherin."_

_ He's angry, now, getting to his feet. "That doesn't matter. The Sorting Hat will see where you belong, and put you there. You'll come to like it. You'll see me every day. It'll be fantastic, you'll see. We will rule that school, better and more that that crockety old man. The Sorting Hat will put you in Slytherin."He's entirely confident of this assumption. _

_ "Draco, I don't want to be a Slytherin!" I say loudly. _

_ For a moment he stares. Then, in a flash, he's leapt forward to snatch my flower crown. He rips it in half, tearing it to pieces, then stomps on it, once, twice, three times, till it's nothing but some crushed bits of green and purple. Torn bits of weed, in the dust. Then he storms away, snatching up his broomstick, which lies in the grass. In seconds, he's gone. _

_ I am left to sit, stunned, staring at the small pile of what-used-to-be flowers. Tears weld in the corners of my eyes, and I am glad he is gone. _

**-XXX-**

It's a quarter after when Kara's cell phone buzzes, alerting her that a meeting will be held at approximately one forty-five, conducted by the Holyhead's managers. She growls, punching various buttons to shut the stupid thing off. Turning to me, she sighs.

"I'm so sorry, lovely!" She is clearly agitated with this intrusion. "But you know how they are…."

"Dicks?" I offer, and Kara laughs.

"Yes, exactly that. I'm sorry."

"Stop it. If this is what gets you to the Cup, then who can complain. Go on, now, you probably better change."

Kara looks down guilty at her "_I-couldn't-care-less" _jeans and ratty Weird Sisters t-shirt. "Yeah, probably. Anyways, we'll catch dinner later, right? Try out one of the pubs downtown?"

"Yeah, yeah, right. Text me, when you know."

"Promise! Bye!"

With that, she apparates to her Holyhead apartment to frantically dig through her closet for something meeting-worthy to wear. She's got just over fifteen minutes, and the clock is ticketing.

I resign myself to finding a proper vase for Draco's flowers. I fill it with a healthy amount of water from the tap, then inhale their scent cautiously. I smell just a trace of magic on them. They've been charmed to last longer than normal flowers. Smiling gently, I leave them on the kitchen table to wander upstairs, to bed. Some thick tome must surely be waiting. I'm tired. I deserve a bit of a break.

**-XXX-**

_"Cattermole, Alfred."_

"Hufflepuff."

"_Coote, Ritchard,"_

"Gryffindor!"

_"Dobbs, Emma,"_

"Hufflepuff!"

"_Elrick, Jonsean." _

_ "_Ravenclaw!"

"_Gibbon, Mournia."_

_ The hall waits with baited breath as the girl trots forward to sit upon the worn stool. She doesn't appear even slightly nervous that the whole school is watch her every motion. The hat muses briefly, then declares loudly—_

"Slytherin!"

_The house sitting under the green banners erupts. A proud Mournia Gibbons marches to the closest empty seat at the Slytherin table, joining her new housemates. She receives handshakes, pats on the back, and cool smiles. _

_ I'm doing my very best not to quake, staring at my shoes. I polished them before leaving this morning, right after I examined my robes for lint. My hair hands in thick curls produced by my new wand. Mother taught the incantation used in creating wand-wrapped curls last Sunday. I like the look, but right now I worried that perhaps I might look stupid. _

"Goshawk, Lional."

_A tall, brave-faced boy enters the stool. The hat quickly decides Gryffindor. He flies to his new table to be greeted warmly with applause. I am wringing my hands in the pocket of my cloak._

_ "Greengrass, Astoria."_

_ I walk slowly up to the dais. Taking my seat, I find I cannot breathe as McGonagall places the worn hat onto my crown. Draco is watching me, pale, anxious. I close my eyes when our gazes cross._

_ "_Oh, your blood is bound for Slytherin," _the hat tells me._

_ I'd been warned of this. _"But I would really prefer to not be in Slytherin, you see?"

"Why ever not?" _the hat asks, surprised. _"Your heart, that is where it lies, am I right? You're friend, too, he is there. And he wants so badly for you to join him."

"I don't want Slytherin. They're too…."

"Yes," _the hat agrees. _"That they are? Are you quite sure? Going to burn a few bridges there, you see? Are you ready to make such a big step in such a…a different direction?"

_"Yes," I whisper aloud, accidently. _

_ "Very well, you ought to be in _RAVENCLAW!"

_I flinch as the hat is removed. I follow the applause to the second-to-right table. Attempting to find a seat as far away as possible from the Slytherin side, I join two other first years to wait. I slide down in my seat as, "Lorcan, Derek," is being called. Draco's eyes have found mine. They are murderous. Several others at the Slytherin table, too, look miffed. But Draco's is the worst, worse than even Daphne, who looks more relieved than anything. Expectations aside, she appears to have wanted distance from me as much as I wanted distance from her. _

_ Draco's gaze is locked on mine for a solid minute before I gather the nerve to look away. Surrounded by a general feeling of good-will and quiet happiness, he cannot touch me now. _

**-XXX-**


	5. Points for Ponder

**Sweetly Drowning, V**

**Okay, quick note about Astoria's age: To prevent prevy-ness in the Hogwarts-era back story, I've made Astoria three years behind Draco, but technically only two-ish years younger. This works out with Draco being born late in the year, and Astoria being one of the older ones in her class. Probably AU, but we'll not worry over it, shall we?**

**Please review and enjoy! **

"Essay, slow down. Essay!" I shout, following my dog out to the garden. A mere pup, the wolfhound bounds miles ahead of me, frolicking merrily in the fresh greenery. Spring has arrived after weeks of rain and snow and sleet. My puppy (a housewarming gift from my father) has brightened the cold considerably, and yet….

When he begins to bark, I make soft noises to soothe him, ducking beneath the arch that lines the path, narrowly avoiding the curling vines, rounding the corner to find him yapping loudly at the stranger who stood at the gate. A hat, old-fashioned Napoleon-style, shadows the pointed face. The fellow holds a staff to his right. With a flick of my wand, Essay is leashed. I shush him. Wandering forward cautiously, I call out.

"Come in. The wards are down."

"Thank you." The latch to the gate is flipped upwards, and the wood swings forward. Soft tapping following the footsteps of the stranger as he crosses the flat sheets of stone. They're old, originals from the streets of town, worn flat by feet, hooves, and wooden wheels. I've bent to bet Essay, murmuring. The wards are sensitive to muggles and those with ill-intentions. Whoever this is, they are neither.

By the time the face is no longer a blur, I've already figured it out. In the sun, his hair flashes brilliant white. He wears a suit. The cloak has been abandoned in lieu of the pleasant weather. He holds a broom in one hand—his "staff." Had he ridden here? The riding boots, heavy black things I used to use for horseback, are dull with use.

"Draco," I say, startled.

He lifts is head, pushing back the hat. Essay scuttles forward, sniffing. I tug on the leash absent-mindedly. Essay yips. Draco comes to my level, stooping to his ankles. He allows the pup to nose the toe of his boots and legs. We wait.

I note his appearance. He is still thin, though his cheeks look rounder, his complexion less pallid. Dark circles frame his eyes, yet they are bright. Maybe it was flight. The fresh air. Or perhaps he is simply happy. Whichever it may be, he doesn't look so terrible. I relax. He's not even slightly tense. A good sign, to be sure.

"What is this fellow's name?" He asks finally, scratching the pup behind the ears.

"Essay."

"I'm sorry?"

"Essay," I say louder. "As in, school assignment."

"Essay," He repeats, shaking his head. "Of course. Naturally."

I would elbow him, but he's too far away. "It came from a book."

"They usually do."

Even I have to smile at this. "I suppose so, yes."

Abruptly, he looks back down at the dog, asking. "So…you've settled well?"

"Yes, very well, thank you."

"I am glad to hear it." He says quickly, almost too quickly. I duck my head, my grin widens. Draco is nervous. Lovely.

For once, I don't feel as though I'm on an uneven footing, clinging desperately to anything I can hold while he rushes forward violently. He is restrained, attempting to approach this dilemma in a quieter manner. I knew he could come around—Draco is a businessman, he knows how to work deals. Properly.

The only problem is I don't even know what dilemma is, really. I simply feel the tension.

"And you? You're name has been out of the papers, lately."

Draco shrugs, standing. I follow the motion. "I've done nothing to put myself in _The_ _Prophet_, lately. My life has been…."

"Quiet?" I offer.

"Very."

"In a good way?"

He smiles a little. "Perhaps. I've been too distracted to notice. Research, and such. Next month I'm unveiling several potions and…well, you shall see it in the paper."

I am curious. "Tell me, Draco."

He shakes his head, lips quirking.

"Oh, come one. My interest is peaked."

Draco merely grins, rocking back on his heels. "Let us just say you will be impressed."

My eyes grow narrow. "How impressed?"

"Very, most likely."

We begin to walk. My garden is extensive, so we're quiet for some time as we stroll through. Essay trots beside me, fuzzy little legs a blur of motion. With short legs, it takes a few more steps to keep up stride. Still, he's bouncy and joyous, tongue lolling out and tail swaying in pace with our strides.

**-XXX-**

_From that moment on, I ceased to exist to most of the Slytherins. Daphne would still talk to me out of sisterly duty, and the others were not unkind for the most part. After all, it wasn't as though I'd been sorted in Gryffindor—then hell might've rained upon me. But I hadn't, and it didn't. Nearly everyone was civil. Those who weren't tended to be the Pansy Parkinson types. They didn't even have the courtesy to ignore me as everyone else did. _

_ I knew, even though he never said it, Draco must have called her off once or twice. Daphne mentioned it casually, as though it shouldn'tve meant the world to me. But it did. _

_ Going into Hogwarts, I had come to terms with the fact that Draco would probably brush me off. I was an underclassman, a girl, and I was annoying. It made sense. I was prepared. But I wasn't prepared for this separation. Nobody said anything about him hating me for picking Ravenclaw over his precious Slytherin. I mean, there was little tension between those particular house, anyways. But that didn't stop Malfoy from taking my choice as a betrayal and treating it as thus-he couldn't even stand to see Daphne speaking to me, and informed her that if she were to do so, it wasn't to be during meal times, or any other time he might publicly see me. And, to my surprise, she complied. _

_ His power among the Slytherins startled me. I'd always known he was a bossy prat, but now he was an even bossier prat and _people were listening_. It unsettled me, and gave me another reason to appreciate my choice in house. If this was how he ran his little kingdom, I am not sure that I want to be part of it._

_ Draco's Slytherin life does eventually conflict with my happy bubble. As my first year was a rush of activities, filled with understudying for the quidditch team, making friends, my studies, and the Triwizard Tournament (which had turned into a Quad-wizard Tournament), I barely had time for Draco. Tracy Montague had asked Kara to the Yule Ball. She had accepted, providing he find me a date as well._

_ Damien Ptolemy is handsome, charming gentlemanly…basically everything Draco is not. He's approximately two years older than me. I find him nice and boring. Daphne tells me there was quite a scuffle between him and some of the elder fellows over him taking me out. She told them to shut it all, warned Ptolemy to play nicely with me, and threatened to hex the nose off anyone who dared ruin the evening. No one truly took her word on this, as Daphne is a terrible hexer, but there you have it. I was left alone. _

_ The night came. Damien wore dark blue velvet, his chocolate hair parted and combed back elegantly. He ignored the fact that I was only twelve, speaking to me as though I am a good deal older. We enjoy dancing, twirling about the floor. He's kind. I like him a great deal. We wander outside, toward the later part of the evening. He points out the fairy lights. While other hide in bushes, we sit on a stone bench, chatting until Professor Flitwick comes out to tell us it's nearly time for bed. Damien escorts me to the statue, the entrance to the common room. _

_ "I had a good evening." He says slowly, nearly bashful. _

_ "I did too." I smile up at him. "Thank you for taking me. I know it was an awful obligation—"_

_ "No, no, it was a pleasure!" He assures me earnestly. "I mean, after everything I was told by D-"_

_ My eyes widen. "Who?"_

_ I was so certain it would be Daphne. Sure, she'd been nice lately, but she's my sister. It is practically her born duty to terrorize me. _

_ Sheepish, Damien scratches his head. "Uh, Draco."_

_ "What—" I begin loudly. Damien scrambles to shush me, and I begin again. "What did Malfoy say about me?"_

_ "Don't worry about it, Astoria. Seriously, he's a total ass. He must have some grudge against you. But clearly everything was false…oh. Dear. I'm terribly sorry-" _

_ I feel so cold. All my joy deflates. Whispering a quick goodnight, I return to my common room. In the dormitories, Kara strokes my hair as I weep myself to sleep, still in my gown. _

**-XXX-**

I am impressed. In the last several months Draco has written four unpublished papers on the chemistry of love potions, funded a new wing to St. Mungo's, promoted and funded part of Mr. Olivander's second shop-in France, where Narcissa attended the opening ceremonies-invented a potion to prevent foggy vision, and improvements on a potion that gives temporary night vision through altering the colour of the choroid of the eye.

He's certainly kept busy.

We're on our third round of the garden when I invite him in for tea. He graciously accepts. I'm forced to wonder, as I fill the kettle, whether this visit comes along with some business trip with him just being in the area, or if it was premeditated. So out of the blue, I'm at a loss for reasons why he would come all the way to Cardiff, which is a bit out of the way for him.

"So," He settled on one of my bar stools, folding his hands in his lap. "How does Cardiff suit you?"

"Well, so far." I'm digging through the cupboard, searching for the biscuits I bought just last week. "Though, I must admit I do miss London. Mind you, I'm there nearly every day for work. But working there isn't the same as living."

"You never did say why you moved," Draco is casual. "I mean, you really loved your flat."

Yeah, I certainly did. But the house was working out pretty well. Plus, I had Essay. Essay, who was currently curled up on his pillow beside the breakfast bar. When I glance down at him, he lifts his head, his tail beating the wooden base of the bar. I smile down at him before turning back to the cupboard.

"There were a lot of reasons. I was getting a little tired of my flat. I wanted a dog. I needed more space. And it was time for a change."

He eyes me. "Drastic change. You couldn't just paint the kitchen?"

"No," I laugh. "I definitely needed a new scene."

Mr. Malfoy inclined his head. "Fair enough. I'm happy for you."

But I get the distinct feeling that he is not.

**-XXX-**

_ "I can't see you anymore." _

_February has come. For two months, my life has been a blissful haze of romance in the library, note passed in crowded hallways, and secluded dinners. However, now Damien stands before me, cold, and unyielding. I've cried few times in our relationship. I hated crying. And I didn't want him to see me cry. _

_ We're tucked in the corner of one corridor. It's about thirty minutes to curfew. Damien had suggested we go on a walk, and since it's so snowy and cold out, we walk in the castle. We've done this before. Loads of times. I hadn't thought tonight would be our last one._

_ "Why?" I ask, before my mind can even comprehend the wave of sadness that has just crashed into me._

_ "I-It's just not a good idea." He says fiercely. "You're so young…so young," He repeats slowly, as if to remind himself. "And then there is the house difference."_

_ The houses. The stupid houses. Always an excuse. _

_ "I'm sorry," Damien continues. "I really, really like you, Toria. But it just isn't-people have told me-"_

_ That's all I need to hear. With a shuddering sob, I dismiss the fiend and flee down the corridor. I run and run (luckily meeting no one on my way) before I find a small room, behind a tapestry of Oleden the Ossery. It's a sort of study-room, with a tall stain glass window and several squishy armchairs, filled to the brim with throw pillows. I don't even consider where I am, but take up a quick residence. I sink against the window, resting my head on the ledge. For what seems like hours I cry against the stone, mourning the loss of my first love. _

_ "Oi, whose-oh." The sound of a snide voice gives me a start. I whip my head up to see Draco Malfoy holding up the tapestry, peering into the niche. He appears just as startled as I am. _

_ "What are you doing, Crabgrass?" He asks, almost kindly. I note the use of his fond childhood name for me. _

_ I don't answer at first, but draw my legs to my chest. "Go way, Malfoy."_

_ Naturally, he comes further into the room._

_ "Have a fight with your stupid boyfriend?" There was a nastiness I'd grown to know._

_ "No," I sneer. "I had a fight with my stupid _ex-_boyfriend, if you must know. Now, piss off."_

_ "Oh, I'd rather not," He drawls, crossing the room to sit beside me. "You look as though you could use some company. And luckily for you, I'm in the mood to be nice. Besides, curfew is over, so you're going to have to stay here…all night."_

_ "That's just bloody fantastic." I curse. "And why, might I ask, are you in such a good mood?" _

_ "I didn't say it was good."_

_ "It must be, considering you're even talking to me. You've been a complete arse since we've gotten here."_

_ He is silent for a moment. "I…you have to understand. I've got a position. A reputation. One that I thought you were going to share with me. And now that you're in Ravenclaw, things have changed."_

_ "That's so immature."_

_ "You don't understand," He snaps. "Things between the houses-they're tense. What reputation you hold here, what house you're in, that will follow you out there," He jabs a finger toward the window. "And to some people, being a Slytherin means a lot. But obviously not to you."_

_ I don't reply. This night has been difficult enough, I don't need to deal with a disgruntled Malfoy. _

_ "But…that's…." He hesitates. "I want to call a truce. For when we're alone."_

_ "When are we ever alone, Draco?"_

_ "We could be. You've always been a sister to me, Astoria. Just because we're in different houses, that shouldn't change. So, when it's just us….truce?"_

_ His hand is extended. I stare at it. This is my chance. Six months without my friend. Six months being shunned. Over, with this one little handshake. It's almost too good to be true._

_ So, going against every screaming muscle in my body, I accept the offered hand. Tonight I need a friend. _

_**-**_**-XXX-**

Short and awkward, the visit ends on friendlier terms. I am glad to have him back in my life. Malfoy promises reliable correspondence as I walk him to the garden gate.

"What stopped you in the first place?" I ask.

Draco takes a long, long breath. "Stress. It's easier to forget…if I don't speak with anyone from 'then.' Astoria, you see a better part of me-" I open my mouth, but he cuts across me. "-whether you realize it or not. That's just what you do. And when that critique of our budding businesses, our investments came out…it's a reminder. My reaction, some of the things I said and did…well, they were positively ungentlemanly. I was ashamed. You're too good a person to deal with the likes of me."

"I won't disagree with that," I quip. "But what made you change your mind?"

He smiles lightly. "Missing your conversation. As I said, I didn't like not speaking. Once I realized what I had done, in alienating you, I swiftly altered my opinion on the matter. I want to be on the best terms possible with you, my dear. I'll cross continents and violate apartments just to tell you so."

I don't think I've ever heard him say so much in one breath. Fingering the waxy petals of a creeping moonflower, I avoid his gaze. Nevertheless, he leans closer. Warm breath brushes my cheek. I shiver, my fingers curling against the vine. The flower bows under the weight.

"Are you going to Macmillian's wedding, in July?" I ask abruptly.

Draco withdrawals. "No. I was not invited." He raises one blonde brow. "Are you inviting me?"

Hesitation colours my face. "Yes. I need a one-plus. With Kara as a brides maid, it's going to be…lonely. Besides, I've never liked weddings."

"Never? I wonder, shall you enjoy your own?"

"Probably not." I admit. "I'll most likely elope."

He smiles with this. "I'd like that. Scandalous. And amusing."

"You'd like to elope?"

I leave out the _"with me?" _that perhaps-perhaps-was implied. Draco never struck me as the eloping type. He simply wasn't rebellious enough. Besides, Aunt Cissa would probably faint away at the mere thought-she would love conducting a big traditional white wedding. Even if Malfoy were to ever elope, I am certain his mummy would force a grand ceremony upon him. At the very least, he will not escape without an afternoon garden party. There is no way to go unscathed from it, not if you're from an established pureblood family, especially one as established as the Malfoys. As for the Greengrasses, well, I have no doubt that my elopement, should one ever occur, would stun and both my family. But they know better. Besides, after Daphne's rodeo of a wedding, why would they want to bother with me?

"Perhaps," Draco allows. "With the right person."

"Would you go with me, then? Not for long-in for the ceremony, raise a glass at the reception, then nip out before the dancing?"

"Oh, no, we must dance. You're an absolute dream on your feet."

I nudge him in the ribs. He straightens instantly.

"However," He says gravelly. "I fear I wouldn't be welcome. Don't you recall? Our date? We met Macmillan, and Abbot? They didn't seem very keen on the idea."

"Oh." I'd forgotten. Disappointment rises in my throat. Silly of me, to even consider. And what would people think, if I were to step out with Draco….I mean, he's _Draco Malfo-_

_ "Stop!" _I scold mentally. _"You know he's not that person!" _

"I'm sorry. I'd forgotten. Maybe-maybe we could meet, afterwards, then? For—ah-coffee?"

Breaking out in a slow and sweet smile-the first true smile I'd seen from him in _ages_-Draco nods. "That would be fantastic."

**Reviews would be lovely! Please and thanks! **


	6. Just Two Simple People

**Sweetly Drowning VI**

**And here we are, to the end! **

**After "To Wish," this has been a nice little breath of fresh air, though I started this two months before. The support, while modest, has been lovely. **

**Before this finishes, I'd like to give a shout-out to the HP Lexicon. I've used it for every Harry Potter piece I've ever written. It is a brilliant resource, truly the fanfiction writer's gospel when it comes to HP. For all HP writers, I highly recommend using the site for fact-checking, or just general inspiration. They've got everything. It's far better than any wiki. Check it. **

**On a different note, I've not had a beta for this, so if anyone finds anything, please message me. **

**And finally, thank you for the support. I hope you check out some of my other business-Doctor Who? Once Upon a Time, anyone?**

**-XXX-**

"….And, let's all him crap for it, my brother, the groom-in case you didn't know." Kara finishes. The guests all clap and laugh politely, amused by my best friend's buzzed speech. She sits down wobbly as the bride and groom beam at one another. They're entirely wrapped up in the glories of love. Ernie didn't even blush at the most embarrassing part of Kara's sisterly duty, when she told the story about the broomstick and the weather balloon.

In all honesty, it's disgusting. Their lovey-dovey behavior, more so than Kara's story. No, the weather balloon story is quite entertaining. If anything, nobody here will ever think of balloons the same way again-

I watch the happy couple and their party, completely missing Kara hobbling toward me from the raised dais, where the aforementioned group sat. In her buttery-yellow dress, she shouldn't be hard to miss, yet my gaze misses her. She waves her hands in front of herself to get my attention. Once she has it, the arms drop, along with her chest. She pulls up a chair beside me. We've not seen one another since yesterday, when she spent the night at my flat.

"Rough day," I remark. "Especially when it's spent in heels."

Her first response is a heavy breath of agreement, then a thick eye roll. When a server approaches with a tray of champagne (good lot, these servers, as they always seem to know when you're in want of a drink), she plucks a flute up instantly, taking a long draft. I accept one as well, sipping only lightly. We're quiet, until her glass is drained and she's fully caught her breath.

"You don't even know." Kara moaned. "Nightmare, every second, even without the heels. Susan keep freaking out, and when she freaked Abbot freaked, and when Abbot freaked everyone knew-she's not quiet about it-so my brother started to worry, and then…well, the florist was late. You would think that, being the maid-of-honor, Abbot would handle it, but no, it was left to me."

I pat her hand sympathetically. "Sorry, dear. Now you can see why I'm set to elope. If the right fellow were to come my way, of course."

"Of course." She echoes knowingly. Then, gesturing to my empty table, "So, where is your date?"

"Don't have one. I'm stag."

"Bloody sucks, doesn't it?"

Seeing all the couples swaying on the marble dance floor, their heads close together and dreamy expressions on their blurry faces, it's not too hard for me to answer with a resolved, "Oh, yes."

Now it's Kara's turn to be sympathetic. "He couldn'tve come, anyways. You know that. They'd have tossed him to the curb in no time. Mind you, I don't like him any better than most, but….it's for the best. "

"I don't know who you're speaking of, Miss Macmillan." I say primly, folding my hands in my lap.

But she grins wickedly. I drop my eyes.

"He probably hates weddings, anyways."

"You did say he wanted to dance…."

"Yeah, but he was joking. Completely joking." I assure her. "He can't stand it-though, he's very light on his feet."

"Good to know." Kara smirked.

I drop my voice as Hannah and Neville pass our table, arm-in-arm. Neville smiles widely, but Abbot gives me an upturned nose. Still apparently sore after our last meeting. As though it were my fault that Draco's family has a not-so-spotless reputation. As if associating with people of that nature was-distasteful? Well, I'm not going to hide my association.

Under my breath I hiss, "Oh, I am so sick of this! He is a good man! Ever since the war finished, he's done good, wonderful things! So his parents make a few mistakes, so they held onto a stupid philosophy. He was just a kid at the time! And what's so wrong with having money? He's honestly earning it now. Everyone is so bloody judgmental when he has done _nothing!" _

My friend stares.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

"Whoa," ss all Kara can say. "Um, freak much?"

"Sorry," I murmur. "Just getting a little sick of all of this. He isn't so bad. He is quite lovely, actually. I mean, he can be a total prat, but…"

Kara tilts her head. "Screw them."

"What?"

"Screw them, Astoria. You've obviously got something on with him." she leans forward. "So, don't listen to them. You know what you want. You like him. Screw them."

"It isn't that easy-he won't even let me…and we barely know one another anymore-"

"You're supposed to meet him after this? Go. Now." she commands.

I don't need telling twice. I leave.

**-XXX-**

I walk outside to the carriages that await the guests. They're to take us to the inn down the road, an appropriate apparition point. Rain skitters over the awning, pelts the drive. I shudder with the shock of cold. One eager groom steps up to offer me a hand. I'm just about to slip into the open door when I hear a soft sound coming from down the road.

"Astoria."

Emerging from the darkness, a slim figure in fitted dress robes with flaming white-blond hair approaches. I back from the steps of the coach. He meets me under the awning, dripping on the carpet, soaked to the bone. Draco shivers. My eyes are so wide, my heart about to burst.

"It's not raining in London," He says. "Nor Whiltsire. So I didn't dress for the occasion."

"Clearly." I come nearer. "Why have you come?"

"I thought you would welcome me," Draco mocks lightly. "Clearly."

I smile. "Draco, where are we going?"

A cold, damp hand snakes around my waist, clearly felt through the thin damask of my dress. "Away," he says simply. "You'll like it. Promise."

"Uh, sir," starts up one of the grooms. "You cannot apparate here—"

But we're already gone.

We end up in one darken alley way. Skittering sounds echo through the brick walls. I can hear the murmur of muggle motors. We're in London. I can tell through the musky, wet scent of city.

"Where…?" I begin.

"You'll see." He assures me. "This is merely a stop."

He leads me down the sidewalk, past green street lamps, reflectively dark shop windows, pounding music pouring from flashing clubs. We eventually end up in front of a quiet little coffee shop. A plain, muggle coffee shop. It's small, but looks warm and cozy.

"Draco, I'm wearing an evening gown," I whisper.

He glances down. "And you look ravishing."

"Yeah, but…"

I am silenced by his hand on the small of my back, pushing me forward. The girl who sits behind the counter, with a messy bun and a red apron, takes our order of two cappuccinos and two scones without batting an eye, as though people waltz in all the time in ballgowns and suits. She nods as she types out the order, then rushes to the collection of machinery that mix, pour, and steam our chocolate creations. Once given our beverages, we sit in the furthest corner. I tuck voluminous skirts around me before sinking into the slim chair.

"So…What brought this on?"

"You did say coffee. And you wanted to meet. How is Essay?"

"Fantastic." He's no longer a wiggly pup, but a stout juvenile. I describe his latest antics, the holes in the garden, the furniture with new teeth marks. Malfoy smiles at all the right parts.

We sit for hours. Just…talking. Draco speaks of his months overseas. He tells me of Aunt Cissa, his latest business, life in London. Remodeling the manor overtakes nearly an hour. It's fun, relaxing. Reminds me of the days before houses, the war, and society parted us. We giggle like children. I haven't seen Draco so at ease in years. The girl behind the counter smiles every so often, coming out to offer us refills. Draco always accepts grandly. It amazes me how relaxed he can be in a muggle setting.

He escorts me out, back to the alley. We continue chatting until stopping before the mouth of the crevasses between the two brick buildings.

"Thank you." I say softly.

"For what?"

Slightly breathless, I laugh. "For being so lovely. For rescuing me."

"It looked like you were about to rescue yourself."

'Perhaps. Even so. You came."

"It was a pleasure. Is, a pleasure. As always." He gently takes up my hands. "So, thank you."

"Shall I see you again, soon?"

Draco says nothing, but steps away. I wait, disappointment threatening to rise. Oh, things were going so well….

"Perhaps. I hope."

"Me, too." I confess. "I-"

"Yes," He interrupts. "But, before you go-" I'm tugged close to his chest. A light kiss is pressed to my forehead. "-promise you'll be good."

I shift. "Of course, Draco. I'm never anything but."

His expression is unreadable. "And yet you hang out with bums like me."

**-XXX-**

_I had never been the type to sneak around. But Draco always brought out the worst in me. _

_ We met in the small, hidden room once or twice a week. Just to talk, or rage, or sit peacefully. Draco even sometimes helped me with my potions homework, or walked me through the difficult portions of my Transformations homework. We ended up reconnecting pretty well. He was still bitter, mind you, but nothing like the months before. Now our difference were reserved to quidditch rivalry and the occasional slanders. But, try as he might, nothing could convince me of Sytherin's superiority. _

_ "We've got everything. Nice commons, a tower, interesting patron…seriously, it' the best."_

_ "You don't have me," he pointed out. _

_ "Well, you I could do without."_

_ "Oy, I resent that." _

_ I cuddled one of the purple pillows, smiling into the soft velvet. "Perhaps that's all Ravenclaw is missing. A giant prick to tease mercilessly."_

_ He couldn't help but laugh at that. "Then it's the same for Slytherin. We don't have a silly, dramatic yob."_

_ "Oh," I sniffed. "But you've already got Pansy."_

_ It was fantastic to hear his laugh again._

**-XXX-**

And then we don't see each other for weeks.

There is the occasional owl, but somehow we've both agreed to maintain a careful distance. It's important. I think we've realized there is a serious energy between us-one that we're not yet ready to harness-and that we need to tread delicately. When the time is right, when the moment comes…we shall know.

So we are left with letters. Often times, I'll find his hulking eagle owls on the ledge of my bedroom window just before dawn, leading me to believe the author has had a restless night. I send mine midday, or evening time. After a long day of work, or a quite day alone with Essay. They're long letters, flowing with private thoughts, hopes. He responses in a similar manner, writing things I know he would have never dared to say aloud.

Neither of us are romantic people. We've no notions of caressing words, or sweeten thoughts. We simply talk, without attempting to infuse the parchment with emotion or lusty tones. Occasionally a word is dropped here or there, but aside from that, we stick to simple conversation. Like we're just two people.

Two simple people.

**-XXX-**

Over the years, I've found the once-monotonous job of shelving to be rather…peaceful. The clockwork of picking up, spacing, then placing books allows time to think. It's almost like meditation, really. I can shelve for hours, and not even cramp now. Besides, it is far easier on my patience than, say, filling out order forms, placing deliveries, counting stock, hosting guest authors, answering stupid questions, or-

"Excuse me, miss, could you help me find-"

-searching for an obscure text.

I used to enjoy looking over the rows and rows of titles. It was a treasure hunt. The sense of satisfaction I would receive from finding that one weird book was immeasurable. But I've grown tired. People no longer interest me; they pained me. Greatly.

With a heavy sigh-that I don't even attempt to muffle or hide-I turn to face this newest customer. Who promptly stops speaking, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

Draco stares briefly before seeming to jolt himself to attention. Caught off guard as well, I gape as well. But mine lasts far longer. It's silly, really. As though I haven't seen him a couple of million times over the entire span of my life. He's just Draco. Simply…Draco. The silly, snotty kid who took me on my first broom ride, and who helped me chase Daphne about the garden when she said something particularly thick, and who patched me up when boyfriends and best friends broke my heart. Draco. Biting my lower lip, I automatically step forward. He instinctually does the same, mirroring my motions, clasping his hands to his front. We're quiet, though the sound of turning pages, dropped books, bustling customers, bells, doors, crumpled paper, creaking stairs, murmurs, surrounds us. The row crackles with electricity.

Then he smiles. The same one he smiled outside of my house, back in May. Perfectly natural. Sincere. Draco stole my attention, and keeps it. He holds my gaze, strong and steady, as though there were no other eyes he'd rather stare into.

"I didn't see you."

"Clearly you did, as you were about to ask me something."

"Yes," He agrees. "But I didn't _see _you."

And he's right. But then again-

"You know what? Neither did I. I can see you, Draco."

Without a second to spare, he takes up my hands. "Good," Quirking his lips. "Took you long enough"

Before I can protest in any way, he lowers is mouth to mine gentle. A sharp intake of breath follows. I meld against him as he backs into the nearest shelf. Slowly, I allow his lips to skim mine, and they begin to move together, in time like two dancers in a waltz. Draco carefully extracts himself as I bite his lower lip. I peek up at him, nose in his chest.

"Astoria?"

"Yes?"

"We've just snogged in the middle of your workplace."

I shrug. "Well, if they fire me, I suppose it won't matter much."

"Why ever not?"

Small smile plastered on his face, he runs his fingers down my arms, warming away all the goosebumps.

"Because, I have no doubt you'll insist they re-hire me." I smile too. "Even when I tell you not to."

"Would I do that?"

"Oh, yes."

"Most likely." He muses. "If that's the case, will you kiss me again?"

And I do.

**-XXX-**

_ Then the war came, in the midst of my fourteenth year. My second year ended with a crash when Harry Potter faced a hoard of Death Eaters at the Ministry. The Dark Lord had returned. _

_ All year things had been tense between myself and Draco-he seemed unnecessarily on edge, saying that it was O.W.L.s that kept him strained. But I couldn't believe a mere test was causing my friend to act so unnaturally. Nevertheless, I let it pass. His stress surely couldn't be relived by a mere kid. Because, no matter what, that's what I'd always been to Draco. A kid. Practically his kid sister. _

_ The visits transferred into my third year, but were sporadic, short, and worrisome. At least, worrisome from my perspective. Draco was not himself. Dark rings developed under his eyes, his robes began to hang from his already-thin frame in an alarming manner. He was snappish. Once again, he blamed the academics. I suspected it to be his father's imprisonment-that was enough to send anyone off the deep end. My parents had been shocked, and told me to distance myself from the Malfoy boy, naturally. And, to all the world, we were distant. Until we came to our small corner of the universe, that is. But even then, the atmosphere was changing, fast._

_ He came to me one day, late, blood on the collar of his once-pristine white shirt. His face had been washed clean, though it was still pinkish, and blood lined the creases of his nose and mouth. I nearly screamed, but rushed upon him, taking him into a chair. I pulled off his heavy black robes. He sat dully in his pressed grey trousers and stained shirt. My breath had quivered with apprehension. I instinctually moved to comfort. Ran my fingers through his unusually-mussed hair. Held my breath as I waited for him to explain. _

_ All he would say was "Potter." Over and over, his finger digging into the stuffing of the armchair. My hands ghosted over his face, desperately glad Professor Snape had been able to heal the cursed cuts so well. _

_ When he caught my wrist to hold it against his cheek, the arm of his shirt fell to reveal the pearly, scarred flesh inked with the unmistakable mark. As he nuzzled my hand, I could say nothing. And when he kissed me softly, I could say nothing as well. All night, I said nothing, just letting him find balance anyway he could._

_ After that we met only a few more times. But then the war came to Hogwarts, and the visits stopped. Sides had been selected, lines clearly defined. And we weren't exactly standing on the same side._

_ For the second time in my relatively young life, I felt the pain of loss. Draco was practically dead, metaphorically and realistically. No Death Eater would pick familial alliance over the insurmountable differences of blood. And I choose the mudblood, the half-bloods, and other sort that populated Ravenclaw house. _

**-XXX-**

"Oh, I called and everything to make sure you weren't going to be in today," Draco huffs later in the ice cream shop across the street. He sets the spoon down with a clatter.

"Why?"

"I didn't want to accidently run into you," he explains. "I didn't think you would want….but I really needed that Tesolo book on vampire habits, and then a few pieces on nocturnal mushrooms…."

"It's a sign," I say, polishing my spoon with the tip of my tongue, savoring the fudge sauce before leaving it on the table. Draco's eyes follow me the whole way. "The one we've been waiting for."

"Hmm?"

"Yes. It has to be."

"Very well then. What shall we do?"

I prop my head on his shoulder, brushing his knee with my knuckles. "It's simple, really. Basic. You continue courting me. And then…."

"Wait a moment, haven't I been doing that since December?" Draco asks, mock outraged. "It's almost September. August is nearly over. Why can't we skip all that and simply marry?"

It is a question to consider. Especially when he tells me, eyes rolling, that _"of-course-it's-you-stupid-who-else-would-it-be?" _ all in one breath, and that he's been waiting ages to ask me out, and will I please, please move back to London so he doesn't have to apparate all the way to Wales again, and that he's going to keep asking, every day if necessary, until I say yes.

"Is desperation," I respond. "attractive to you?"

He says no. At the very least, I'm not too surprised when he shows up on my doorstep in the following weeks, presenting me with various pieces of jewelry. Draco never does things by halves.

-XXX-

**The End **

**Please review! Any questions, comments, concerns? Just click that button! **


End file.
